


Tangles and Knots

by Rifa



Series: The Red Thread [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Consent Issues, Flashbacks, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Bondage, PTSD, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Platonic BDSM, Platonic Fenris/Iron Bull, Recovery, Red Lyrium, Relationship Discussions, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Shibari, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rifa/pseuds/Rifa
Summary: Fenris is a free man, again, recovering and relearning how to be a person in Skyhold while he waits for the operation to remove the red lyrium from his markings. He discovers that among all the things Danarius stole from him is his ability to find sexual gratification, even from himself. Plagued with guilt and shame regarding his broken sexuality and unusual fantasies, Fenris attempts to drown out his thoughts and instead is prompted with a new option he didn't know existed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my fic _The Color Red_ and takes place pretty much right where that left off. You'll have to read it to have the proper context and understanding of what's happening in this fic.
> 
> A few notes before I dive in: 
> 
> First off, for everyone who has come from reading TCR, thank you so much for sticking with me! It means the world to me!
> 
> Secondly, I want to stress that Fenris and Hawke are currently in a very delicate and complicated place in rekindling their relationship and are technically not fully 'together' during the events in this fic. This will be explored and discussed in later chapters, but I want to be very clear about that upfront.
> 
> This fic will contain sexually explicit scenes, unlike TCR, and a lot of kink discussion as well as the exploration of Fenris' past sexual abuse. I will tag accordingly but please take note if this is something you are personally sensitive to. This should go without saying, but everything depicted in this fic is for entertainment purposes only, all stunts are performed by professionals do not attempt ♥

 

It was late, the dark and frigid winter air the only thing that cloaked Fenris in his private room at Skyhold. He should shiver, standing naked in the cold space, but doesn’t. The red lyrium is still within him and the rebel mages expect their research and tests to take several more weeks. It slumbers in the cold but something else is rolling through Fenris’ body, eager for his attention after he had ignored it for so long.

 

Fenris climbs onto his bed, splaying his legs out in front of him with his hands bracing him upright against the headboard. He feels too exposed like this. His door is locked from the inside, so no one can intrude on him but he still imagines someone walking in on him. He is reminded of being on display at Danarius’ estate back in Minrathous. 

 

He thinks for a moment before taking the blankets he leaves unused on the floor next to the bed. He drapes them over his legs and up to his stomach. The scratchy warmth is too much, stifling against him. He is too paranoid of the red lyrium waking up, turning its hungry eyes to his actions only to tear him apart.

 

He grumbles and rolls over onto his front, his cock is softening from the half-mast he had managed to coax it to before. It is not helped by being pressed between him and the mattress. He turns so his head rests on one cheek, adjusting and lifting his hips to give his dick some space. He is acutely aware of his ass slightly in the air and feels a wave of shame at how he must look, lewd and wanton even with the scratchy blanket thrown over him.

 

It’s been entirely  _ too long _ since he had a release. He hadn’t been properly attended to since before the red lyrium was injected into his brands. How long ago was that now? Months, too many, may be nearing a year now? It was hard to tell, his battered memory failing to give him anything to measure the time by. But since that time he only had the smallest of sexual attentions. They filled him with disgust and shame now that he remembered himself and  _ knew better _ .

 

The red lyrium made his body unsafe. Both for him and for others. The one time he had been fucked - no,  _ raped _ \- was by an unwilling gladiator owned by the Venatori. The gladiator had been goaded and forced to continue despite the pain Fenris’ body gave his cock, trying to pump through the searing heat that eventually burned the man’s cock to disfigurement. 

 

Fenris groaned into the sheets. These thoughts weren’t helping.

 

He had been a free man for nearly two months now, far from Danarius’ grasp and the cruelties of the Venatori. But in all that time he had not managed to relieve himself willingly, to release the built up pressure and stress in a way his body could handle it. 

 

He reached his hand down, gingerly palming about for his softening cock. He felt it and quickly jerked his hand away, even as he hissed at himself. Slaves were  _ not _ permitted to touch themselves. Masturbation was strictly forbidden, the rule enforced since puberty caused an immediate response in Fenris, even now. Touching his cock for pleasure, even the  _ thought _ of pleasure, meant punishment. It meant floggings and much worse to slaves who dared bring themselves to completion. 

 

Fenris couldn’t shake it, even though he was a  _ free man _ and had done this before. He remembered it taking years away from Danarius’ grasp to be able to wrap his own hand around himself and pleasure himself to completion.  _ Years _ . He was determined to not have to go through that again. He had put in the work once, why couldn’t he just push through it now?

 

He took a long, purposeful breath and tried to clear his mind. He let the anxieties and the anger slip away from him, centering himself where he was now. He was in his own bed, in his own private room, alone and safe. He was going to jerk himself off.

 

He took his cock in his hand. It hurt, he was too soft and his grip too forceful. He rubbed his face against the sheets and tried again, trying to remember how he would coax his master’s cock to hardness- no, not that. He had to think of something to occupy him, something that would help him.

 

What did he used to think about? Hawke, most likely. The thought of him bloomed in Fenris’ mind. His awkward smiles, the flick of his eyes and the flush of his cheeks when he noticed Fenris looking at him. The way he laughed when he drank with Varric at the Herald’s Rest. The focus in his eyes as he sighted down his arrow, his strong arms and shoulders tense until they released the bowstring. Those long nights they would spend in the common room, talking about old times, about what they would do when Fenris was recovered from the red lyrium.

 

Fenris’ face screwed up at that thought, he knew what he  _ really _ wanted when the lyrium was removed. He wanted to be with Hawke again. He wanted to kiss him as deeply as he could, not just the chaste, careful little kisses they had been sharing on the occasion. He wanted to feel Hawke’s tongue in his mouth, his hands against his body, shoving him against the bed and holding him there.

 

His cock began to harden and Fenris touched it carefully, feeling the slight swell. It was like a lightning rod, every ginger touch sending waves down his spine as his hand twitched away nervously. He had to bury the thoughts of punishment, the fear of being found out. 

 

He turned back to his thoughts, Hawke pushing him against the bed and holding him down by the back of his neck. A hand gripping him tightly as his other traced up the lines of Fenris’ lyrium, teasing them as he moved towards Fenris’ hole. Fenris squirmed, imagining he would under Hawke’s hands, and suddenly Hawke was wrenching his wrists to his back. Holding them in place as Fenris’ shoulders worked uselessly, arms bound in rope behind him as his Master traced his hole, heat magic teasing it until it pulled in his fingers-

 

_ Wait- _

 

Fenris groaned against the bed, almost feeling the tightness of the ropes on his forearms. His body moved by itself. His throat felt thick, blocked by a collar that chained him to the headboard, the chain swinging before it went taut as his Master pulled him back by his hips-

 

_ No. _

 

Fenris’ body was not his, bound and splayed to be a toy for his Master’s pleasure. A thing to be fucked without interruption or distraction. And Fenris would be good. He would remain pliant in the unneeded bonds, feeling torn and held at once as his Master’s cock breached him-

 

_ Not this. _

 

Fenris threw the blanket off of him, sitting up on his knees as his head pounded and his breath rasped through his chest. His mind was spiraling and he grabbed his hair in fists as he willed himself to let go of the memory. He was  _ not _ a slave! He was  _ free _ ! He did not need to be used like that any longer. His former master was long dead, rotting in the Western Approach and forgotten. The terror of everything that had been inflicted on him was passed, he could leave it all behind.

 

Sweat beaded on the back of his neck and Fenris looked down to see his cock fully erect. Shame struck him as his stomach heaved. How-  _ Why _ ? Why did that, of all things, bring his cock to attention? He crawled off the bed, holding in his disgust at how heavy his dick felt as he did so. He took his leggings from the ground and hastily yanked them up and over his hard cock. The bulge was plain to see, even in the dark and Fenris cursed at himself. 

 

How could he  _ want _ that? How could anyone find pleasure in servicing and bending to a man in that way? One who would demean and humiliate for his own delight? People strived to be released from bondage, not to wrap themselves in it and, and…

 

Had he really not recovered at all? Was his slave training so ingrained that he would only find inspiration for his cock in his previous  _ rapes _ and abuse? 

 

He needed a drink.

 

Fenris pulled his tunic and cloak on. His cock was slowly softening but the shame was still hot upon Fenris’ ears. He wished he could remember any of the tricks he had learned to try and dampen an unwanted erection. The only thing he could think of was cold and he knew that wasn’t going to help him now.

 

He decided to ignore it as he unlocked his door and made for the hall. His private room was in a remote wing of Skyhold, far away from those who would be offended by his presence. It also meant no one would see Fenris slipping out of his room with a guilty bulge in his leggings. 

 

Herald’s Rest was a quick walk from here and Fenris had the route down by now. A few halls down, descending a couple flights of stairs, and then straight out across the main yard. He had only gone alone a few times before, at equally strange times of night, usually the result of an overactive mind or overwhelming nightmares.

 

Fenris followed the path, mentally wringing the thoughts he had of Danarius from his mind. He stared down at each step, the cold stone underneath something he could focus on to keep him in the here and  _ now _ .

 

“Fenris?”

 

Fenris froze and looked up to find Hawke at the bottom of the flight of stairs he was descending. Hawke was squinting up at him, nose and cheeks flush from drink as he wavered on the spot. He and Varric had clearly been drinking again and Fenris had accidentally caught Hawke wandering home.

 

“Hawke,” Fenris nodded as he clutched his cloak around him to hide the slowly dwindling bulge between his legs. 

 

“Can’t sleep?” Hawke’s eyebrows pitched high on his forehead in overwrought concern. “It’s ok we can talk about whatever’s… whatever’s bothering you?”

 

The last thing Fenris wanted to do was to tell Hawke, especially a drunk Hawke, anything about what had transpired in his room. He couldn’t have Hawke  _ know _ this about him. Simply knowing that he was aware of the abuses and violations that had done to Fenris’ body was shameful enough. If Hawke knew that Fenris was  _ craving _ it... the very thought made Fenris feel ill. 

 

“I just…” Fenris blinked hard, scrambling for an excuse, “I wanted to stretch my legs.”

 

“Oh, well,” Hawke nodded rapidly, grabbing the stone wall to steady himself. “That’s good, I’m glad, you should.”

 

Fenris waited for Hawke to try climbing the stairs again but he didn’t move, as if he had forgotten where he was. The archer simply gazed up at Fenris, a lazy smile spreading as he made a low sound of what Fenris knew was appreciation.

 

“You look so  _ good _ ,” Hawke slurred. 

 

“Th-thank you,” Fenris’ ears burned, his grasp on his cloak tightening as his cock perked.  _ That _ would have been more helpful  _ earlier _ . Now, Fenris just felt trapped and vulnerable. “You should get some rest, Hawke.”

 

“Yeah…” Hawke agreed sadly, “There’s just, so many stairs…” 

 

A small bubble of adoration grew in Fenris’ chest, absurdly, considering the circumstances. Fenris wondered if he should just help Hawke to his room and try to call it a night himself. But the confused and persistent bulge in his leggings didn't seem ready to leave. The guilt and disgust were still sitting low in his stomach, every movement reminding him of why he  _ had _ to stay away from Hawke.

 

“I am sure you can conquer the stairs, Hawke,” Fenris tried to sound teasing, but the tone came out all wrong. A little too desperate, although Hawke did not seem to notice. “You’re almost there.”

 

Fenris pushed himself to descend the stairs, each step more uncomfortable than the last as his half-hard cock refused to do anything but remind him of its presence. Hawke was watching him as he came closer, embarrassment burning deep in Fenris under the man’s attentive eye. He didn’t deserve Hawke, the man was too accommodating, too good for him. He clutched the cloak tighter as he passed Hawke, their eyes locking for one vulnerable moment before Fenris was able to break past him.

 

“Have a good walk,” Hawke called after him, Fenris’ ears twitching as he stormed forward. “I love you.”

 

The knot in Fenris’ chest tightened. He stopped after he rounded the corner, alone at last, and leaned against the cool stone wall. He closed his eyes and willed his cock to go limp, to release him from the on-going torment and shame. It wilted, finally, and Fenris opened his eyes to blink quickly past the pricks that threatened to humiliate him further.

 

He needed a  _ drink _ . 

 

Fenris made good time getting to the tavern now that he was unhindered by the betrayal of his body. The halls and yards were nearly empty, at least, as barren as they ever got in the bustling epicentre of the Inquisition. The training yard was quiet, only a few workers making their way through the slowly falling snow and a handful of guards patrolling and breathing hot air into their gloved hands as Fenris passed. 

 

The tavern was not as quiet, unfortunately. The light and warmth burst against Fenris as he pushed his way inside, his ears pinning at the shouted conversations and drowned out tune of a bard performing. It wasn’t the busiest Fenris had ever seen it, not by a long shot, but Fenris still had to weave between men and women of all races and creeds to try and find a place to sit. The tables were full of people, each in uproarious and familiar conversation, the stools at the counter where also taken. Many people seemed to simply stand or lean with their tankards in hand, satisfied to be in the buzzing core of the tavern.

 

Fenris pulled his hood tighter, hiding his white hair and the red brands as best as he could. He knew there were still those in Skyhold who would have preferred to see him in chains or executed for the crimes he committed under the Venatori’s orders. There were also those who had read Varric’s book, who seemed to think reading an incomplete account of the events in Kirkwall was akin to knowing Fenris  _ personally _ . He wanted none of their attention. He only wanted a place to sit and quietly drown out the contempt he felt.

 

He climbed the stairs to the upper level, found it less crowded and just a touch quieter. One of the tables in the corner was empty, its last occupant staggering away as Fenris neared it. He slipped into a chair, his back to the corner so he could keep his eyes up, and ordered an ale from one of the wandering barmaids.

 

Within a moment, Fenris had his hands wrapped around a cold tankard, the burning lines of red lyrium in his hands soothed as he held it. He took a long drink, savoring the liberty of it and being able to come and go as he pleased. He was slowly beginning to believe he could be a free man again, each little action a reclamation of what had been taken from him. Everything, except pleasuring himself, he thought bitterly.

 

Fenris tried to wash away the shame and self-disgust he felt, tipping the tankard back until a drop rolled down his chin and he slammed the empty tankard onto the table. He nodded to the passing barmaid, his tankard taken to be refilled as he stewed in the weak ale and miserable thoughts that plagued him.

 

“This seat taken?” 

 

Fenris’ eyes flicked up to the towering and massive figure of a qunari, his large hand already pulling out one of the chairs as he smiled under a single eye. Fenris’ ears pinned at the sight, taking in the wide horns and exposed and scarred chest. They had met before, but Fenris was still wary of qunari despite the fact that he  _ hadn’t _ been captured and tortured him as he had been made to believe. 

 

“No,” Fenris shook his head at the Iron Bull.

 

The chair scraped out and Iron Bull settled himself in it, at Fenris’ table. Fenris blinked, looking around the tavern for the qunari’s usual companions. He had expected Iron Bull to take the chair to nudge up to one of the overcrowded tables nearby, not to  _ sit _ with Fenris. But he couldn’t spot any of his mercenaries, nor the mage he often saw him with. 

 

“Nothing like a tankard of cold ale at the end of a long day’s work,” Iron Bull lifted his tankard in gesture, taking a gulp before continuing, “You drinking alone tonight?”

 

Fenris’ ears pinned flat against the sides of his head, a prickle running up and down his arms as he narrowed his eyes at the qunari. What exactly was  _ that _ supposed to mean? If Fenris didn’t know that Iron Bull was a trusted member of the inquisitor’s inner circle, and a friend of Varric’s, he would have taken it as a veiled threat. It was hard not to feel on edge around the huge qunari.

 

“Evidently,” Fenris answered quietly, using his ale as an excuse to keep his answers short.

 

Iron Bull gave a sideways nod with a raised eyebrow, “Hawke was here not too long ago, left just a bit before you snuck in.”

 

Fenris put down his tankard, eyeing Iron Bull across the table, “Not much escapes your notice, does it?”

 

“Not really,” Iron Bull shrugged, “I just thought you looked like you could use some company. Late night drinks and conversation does a man good.”

 

“Is that the impression I give?” Fenris asked, genuinely curious under the thick layer he had to attempt to protect himself from the qunari. Fenris still did not feel wholly comfortable talking with people in Skyhold, did not feel comfortable with people he barely knew knowing him or his history. “Is that how I ‘look’?”

 

Fenris hadn’t meant to sound as antagonistic as the words had come out, but Iron Bull seemed to take it in stride.

“To a trained eye, yes.” He answered, a small smile pulling at half of his scarred face, “To anyone else you still give the ‘ _ don’t fuck with me _ ’ impression, trust me.”

 

“You have a ‘trained eye’?” Fenris frowned as he finished his second tankard, the barmaid nodding at him from across the room knowingly. 

 

“Yeah,” Iron Bull put down his drink and hunkered over the table on his elbows, his gaze chilled to a steely facade that made Fenris’ hackles raise. “ _ Ben-Hassrath _ training, I see and read almost  _ everything _ .”

 

Fenris froze, the red lyrium in his brands spiked, barbs inside of his arms as he slowly closed a fist to try and control it. He was in Skyhold, he was safe, but he  _ did _ have the red lyrium if he found himself in danger. He took a slow breath through his nose, locking eyes with the massive qunari, images of Seheron flipping through his mind.

 

“I thought you were Tal-Vashoth,” Fenris said quietly, although now it explained the steeled look Iron Bull had given him. A trained-in technique from Par Vollen, the dead eyes of oxmen staring out from under vitaar, appearing as inhuman as possible to terrify the Teven mages they faced in Seheron.

 

“I am,” Iron Bull answered, his voice low before he sat back in his chair. Warmth returned to his expression, muscles relaxed as he crossed his ankles under the table. Fenris forced his own shoulders to lower, to release the fist he had made on the table top, in response. “Wasn’t always. Situations and circumstances change, but some things are harder to shake than others. Speaking of-”

 

He paused as the barmaid place another tankard in front of Fenris, giving her a smile and a word of thanks as she walked away.

 

“How are you doing?” Iron Bull finished the question, as if it were a private question he would have preferred the barmaid not hear. 

 

The gesture in and of itself told Fenris more than the words had. Iron Bull  _ knew _ about Fenris, he had offered advice to Fenris about coming out of what he had experienced when he first came back to Skyhold, and now knowing that he was Ben-Hassrath the picture was much clearer. There was little Fenris could expect Iron Bull to not see.

 

“I am fine,” Fenris lied anyway. The Iron Bull was not his friend and he did not owe him a window into his current affairs. “I am eager for the mages to restore my markings to their previous state.”

 

“Right, right, Dorian’s been talking a bit about that,” Iron Bull nodded, pushing his empty tankard onto the table. Fenris took the opportunity to gulp down more of his drink. “All that magic crap is beyond my understanding, and beyond my own comforts. Sounds like it’s going to be pretty invasive.”

 

“I would prefer to talk about something else,” Fenris cut in as he finished his third drink. Wait, already? He squinted at it as the barmaid collected both his and Bull’s empty tankards, going to get them another round. 

 

“Fair enough,” Iron Bull nodded, “What  _ would _ you like to talk about?”

 

In truth, Fenris would rather talk about  _ nothing _ . He was happier before he had the company. He had been busy in his mind, trying to drown out-  _ oh _ , right- He shifted uncomfortably as he tried to push those thoughts away, perhaps distractions were preferable. 

 

The barmaid returned before Fenris could think of an answer, taking up his  _ fourth _ tankard and drinking greedily at its foamy contents. 

 

“Well-” Iron Bull started, he adjusted his seat and for one glorious second Fenris thought he might get up leave, bored with him, but instead he remained. “I’ve heard you’re good with a sword but I never see you in the training yards. You should come down sometime, stretch those muscles and work up some sweat. Maybe show our newer recruits a thing or two?”

 

Fenris hadn’t picked up a sword since he killed Danarius. How long ago was that now? He didn’t even want to think about it. The way the red lyrium that had infected his old master had crawled out of his chest, solidifying his dripping blood and crackling up Fenris’ sword. No. Fenris did not need to think about that. Not now. 

 

He forced his eyes up to the qunari, hoping his thoughts were not clear in his red gaze as he nodded thoughtfully, “Perhaps, it would be foolish of me to allow myself to grow complacent.”

 

Iron Bull opened his mouth to respond when he was interrupted by a loud, whining noise that Fenris barely recognized as The Iron Bull’s name being shouted from the stairs. Bull turned in his chair as Fenris looked up to the source, a drunk human he didn’t recognize stumbling over to their table.

 

“Buuuulllll!” The man slurred, grabbing onto Iron Bull’s chair for support before leaning into it to attempt to nuzzle against the qunari’s massive arm. Fenris edged his chair back from the table, ears pinned at the display. “I’ve been looking for you  _ everywhere _ ! I’m, Bull, baby, we gotta-”

 

“Hey now,” Bull chuckled low in his chest, supporting the wavering man, “How much have you drank? I think you need to go and find your bed, are your friends around?”

 

“ _ You  _ gotta find-” The man started before his face fell, “My friends are downstairs. But I, Bull, today was so  _ hard _ . Can’t you please just-”

 

“We talked about this,” Bull’s voice dropped, “You asked not to do anything while drunk, you remember?”

 

“But…” The man’s face screwed up before resignation poured over and he nodded mournfully.

 

“Let’s find your friends, and we can talk tomorrow, alright?” Iron Bull stood, still steadying the man with a broad hand across his back. He turned to Fenris quickly before leaving, “I’ll be right back.”

 

Fenris watched the qunari help the drunk man down the stairs, ear twitching in confusion as to what exactly he had just seen. There had been something… intimate in their actions to one another. More so than just the drink sloshing about the man. 

 

Iron Bull was back in a moment, looking a touch sheepish as he took his place again, “Sorry about that. Nico and I have a firm agreement and sometimes he forgets that when he drinks a little too much.”

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes, “An ‘agreement’?”

 

“Yeah, an agreement,” Iron Bull shrugged a shoulder as he took a gulp of his drink.

 

“He seemed…” Fenris’ eyes trailed away, thinking about how the man had grasped against Iron Bull’s muscled arm. The brief nuzzle. “What kind of agreement?”

 

“Ah, well,” Iron Bull sat forward, great forearms crossed over the tabletop. “That would be private. Suffice to say that there are a few around Skyhold who benefit from a little quality time to have their needs met.”

 

Fenris blinked, “Aren’t you involved with Dorian?”

 

“That I am,” Iron Bull smiled wide, eye dancing in the low light. “It’s different with him. Very different. But he knows and we have an understanding.”

 

Fenris frowned, Iron Bull’s horns seemed to be doubling and wobbling in his eyes, “You’re not… involved… with these people you have ‘agreements’ with are you? That  _ is  _ what you are saying?”

 

“Yeah,” Iron Bull nodded slowly, “That is what I’m saying.”

 

Fenris turned away to scoff, but it twisted and turned into an awkward, nervous laugh. He could understand why someone would want a piece of the qunari, he was exotic and enticing for sure. Nothing stirred a human more than that, in his own experience anyways. But it seemed  _ absurd _ .

 

“Why?” Fenris blurted out, unable to keep his disbelieving smile off of his face. He blinked hard against a building warmth in his head, undoing his cloak and freeing his lyrium-heated brands. 

 

Iron Bull’s eye flicked down to the softly glowing lyrium and back to Fenris’ eyes, not missing a beat, “Because I enjoy it. And because I have a lot to offer people that they usually cannot find anywhere else.”

 

“A qunari cock?” Fenris couldn’t stop himself, he shook his empty tankard and realized that was where the last of his dignity and pose went. 

 

Iron Bull laughed, “ _ That _ , but also I have a skillset that I can use to help people. The Ben-Hassrath training taught me to see how people think, what they are carrying on their shoulders and what they need to relax and put it down.”

 

Fenris stilled, his mind wandering back to his room, his private struggle, “What are you talking about?”

 

Iron Bull was quiet for a moment, watching Fenris quietly over his tankard as he sipped, Fenris blinked lazily back. He shouldn’t be having a conversation like this, especially while drunk. But he could, couldn’t he? Who would stop him? Why  _ shouldn’t _ he hear what the qunari had to say about this promiscuousness?

 

“Let’s say, for example,” Iron Bull started as Fenris swallowed down the trepidation and guilt spiking in his stomach. “Someone has come out of a bad situation. Something dangerous that threatened their life and they were held captive for a long time, it takes them a long time to adjust to ‘normal’ life. They need to hold themselves upright, be strong and make decisions for themselves for the first time in an age. The stress builds, and that stress is destructive, and perhaps they just need someone to take that control away. Just for a bit. Just a moment. Let them relax and find relief.”

 

Fenris’ ears pinned back slowly. Iron Bull was talking about  _ him _ . Sneaky oxman. He sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed as his stomach tied itself in knots. 

 

“And you think I need that?” Fenris sneered, the red inside of him licking up his brands. Heating and spreading as it spiked and prodded at Fenris’ mind.  _ Are you still a slave? Are you going to allow this hideous oxman to belittle you like this?  _

 

“I think you know exactly what you want,” Iron Bull smiled, warmth pouring from him, clashing with the aggression Fenris felt building inside of him. The qunari stood and stretched, “And I think you just need to know it’s  _ alright _ to want whatever it is.”

 

Fenris blinked, his mind flipping to his intrusive thoughts about ropes binding his arms, forced against the bed as he- He shuddered and curled his hands into fists as he felt his cock twitch in another act of utter betrayal. Had the Iron Bull seen? Had he somehow read his mind and seen the images that plagued him?

 

“I am  _ fine _ , thank you,” Fenris whispered through gritted teeth.

 

The Iron Bull watched him for a moment before waving a massive hand, “Well, I’ll see you around, Fenris. Come by the training yards some time.”

 

The qunari turned and left. Leaving Fenris alone with his tousled thoughts and ale-addled mind.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, just a casual reminder about the past sexual abuse tag as its coming up again in this chapter, and will come up in every chapter honestly. Please be careful reading if its something that is distressing to you, I love you want you nice and happy :)

Fenris was standing under orange trees. The branches were swaying in the hot summer breeze, little white flowers brushing against the thick fragrant fruits. He could smell the distant salt of the ocean, his red brands burning up under his skin in the heat. 

 

He kicked at the ground, roughly packed sand under his feet as he gazed around the training yards of his Master’s estate. But the yard was empty. His eyes flicked up to the upper balconies where his Master would sometimes watch his sessions, but there was no one there either. The estate was usually bustling with activity, every room and every courtyard had at least one slave within reach to tend to the needs of those entitled to them. But they were gone.

 

Fenris felt lonely.

 

He wandered from the yards to the cool halls, the cold stone floor soothing him as he padded carefully into the house. It was silent inside, no murmurs of conversation, no sounds of the slave’s bare feet along the edges of the rooms and halls, no music trailing through the empty rooms. Nothing. Fenris’ ears twitched, straining to hear anything, to understand where everyone had gone. Had they all left? Just like he did? 

 

Fenris turned a corner and found himself in his Master’s bedchambers. He froze on the spot. This wasn’t where the room belonged, it was in a far wing and on an upper floor. How had he stumbled into it from the main hall?

 

Hawke looked up from one of the lounges, reclining in his armor with a book open in his hand, “There you are, Fenris.”

 

“Where is everyone?” Fenris frowned in his confusion, Hawke did not seem concerned about lounging around Danarius’ private quarters. Anxiety beat through Fenris’ limbs even as he tried to temper it back down.

 

Hawke shrugged in response, sitting up and gesturing for Fenris to join him, “Come here for a second.”

 

Fenris obeyed and found himself on his knees in front of Hawke, his head rested against his lap. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t right, not for them, but somehow Hawke’s fingers petting through Fenris’ hair was reassuring and he did not want it to stop.

 

“How long has it been?” Hawke asked, his voice dropping to a low whisper. 

 

Fenris lidded his eyes as he pondered the question. How long  _ had _ it been? He wasn’t sure what exactly Hawke was talking about, but he knew that the answer was most definitely ‘too long’. 

 

Hawke’s gloved fingers met Fenris’ chin and guided him up, away from his thigh and towards his crotch. Fenris opened his mouth willingly as Hawke presented his cock without comment. No sooner had Fenris taken it into his mouth as Hawke suddenly grabbed his head by a fistful of hair and forced him down hard. Fenris attempted to struggle, choking as more hands pulled his arms back. He was bound suddenly, shackles at his wrists, more hands locking a chain between them and his collar. The cold metal laid against his exposed back. Hands pulled his ankles out from him, more trailing up his thighs, his ass, along his ribs and chest. 

 

It was too much. There were too many. He couldn’t breathe. He forced himself to look up only to see Danarius sneering down at him, wicked smile twisted on his face as his veins turned dark, red lights dancing menacingly in his eyes.

 

“How long has it been, Fenris?” His voice echoed inside of Fenris’ head, impossibly loud. “Since you swallowed down a real man’s cock?”

 

Fenris woke suddenly, blinking hard against the tangle of sheets under him. A full body shudder assured him that he was not bound, not being touched. He sat up abruptly and instantly regretted it, his stomach lurching and his head pounding.

 

It was just a dream. He ran a hand across his sweat-drenched face. It was just a dream.

 

He hissed as his thoughts were beat out by a pounding headache. He shifted slowly on his bed, curling up on himself as he took his head into his hands and groaned. It thudded between his eyes. It took him a moment to remember the tavern the previous night, the five or six tankards he had drained much too quickly. The thoughts replaced the memory of his dream easily, the images from it fading quickly. Instead, he tried to remember when he had stopped drinking, when he had gotten back.

 

He uncurled himself to look around, making sure that he was in his proper room and nothing was amiss. Late morning light was streaming through the open windows, his clothes were messily strewn across the floor and the door was firmly locked on the other side of the small space. That was a relief at least. Fenris needed to try and be more careful about that, he didn’t want to be caught off guard, even if everyone assured him he was safer here than anywhere else.

 

His head continued to throb as he peeled himself off the bed, sweaty despite his near nakedness and the frigid temperature of the room. He stood and found a jug of water, drinking straight from its spout until the stale old taste of ale was washed away.

 

Why had he drunk so much? Hawke wasn’t there, he remembered passing Hawke as he stumbled to his own room, so why did-

 

Memory met him and Fenris froze. The Iron Bull, he had been drinking with the qunari. They had ended up talking about him engaging in… some sort of sexual entanglements in Skyhold. No, it had been more than that hadn’t it? He had said something about taking control away, about having a ‘skill set’.

 

Fenris frowned, it was a bit of a blur. But he did remember something about it intriguing him, when he was sure it should not have. Was he interested in pursuing qunari now? He snorted. Not likely. Iron Bull was strong and seemingly kind natured, both qualities Fenris recognized he liked, but he had no actual interest in him. 

 

He swallowed down his guilt with another gulp of water. What was he so freaked out about? He was a free man, he could drink to his content and discuss whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted. Even if that person happened to be a qunari that once operated in Seheron.

 

Fenris put down the jug. He needed a distraction.

 

Within a moment he had retrieved his discarded clothes and dressed, heading out of his private room to seek after Hawke or breakfast. Whichever he found first. He padded down the hall, craning his neck to peek into their regular common area. It was empty, but oddly had a hot drink and a small platter of meats and baked goods laid out. He turned the corner and spotted Varric reclining in one of the armchairs, a stack of papers on his lap and quill in hand.

 

“Morning,” Fenris greeted. 

 

Varric looked up and rose his arms in welcome, “There’s my favourite elf! How is the morning treating you, my friend?”

 

Fenris sat in one of the opposite chairs, plucking a few slices of salted meat and a scone before settling back, “Better now that I have some breakfast. Have you seen Hawke?”

 

A quick tight smile crossed Varric’s face, “Not since last night, I suspect our champion is currently sleeping off a hangover. He doesn’t hold his liquor the way he used to, we’re all getting old I think.”

 

Fenris chewed thoughtfully, remembering Hawke struggling with the stairs and calling out affections after him as Fenris passed. He wondered if he was alright. 

 

“What did you get up to last night?” Varric dropped his papers onto the small table between them, watching Fenris closely. 

 

“Nothing of note,” Fenris blinked, remembering his failed attempts to bring himself relief before he stalked off to the tavern. The picture all becoming more and more clear as he eased carefully from his hang-over. 

 

“No?” Varric narrowed his eyes with a knowing smirk. “I’m pretty sure I spotted you sneaking into the Herald’s Rest late last night.”

 

Fenris swallowed a mouthful of scone, “I was thirsty.”

 

“Ahh, right, right,” Varric nodded, “I don’t mean to pry, I was just wondering if you were doing alright or if I have to report anyone to Keeper for picking fights.”

 

“I was not picking fights,” Fenris frowned as he reached for another scone.

 

“Oh, I didn’t mean you,” Varric shook his head quickly, smirk spreading into a full grin. “You know I would be the first to cover for you. But seriously, if anyone gives you trouble - not that you can’t take care of yourself - don’t be shy to let me know about it.”

 

Varric was talking about Fereldens, most likely. There were still people who had not forgotten that Fenris had assassinated the queen, people that would try and see their own form of justice doled out on Fenris. Most of them had been conveniently relocated or set to missions outside of Skyhold. Varric was well connected here with his finger on the pulse of the Inquisition. It seemed as if he knew every single person that roamed the halls of the massive keep.

 

“Varric, you’re friends with Iron Bull aren’t you?” Fenris tilted his head. 

 

Varric blinked, expression shifting to something Fenris couldn’t quite read, “Yeah. He’s, uhh, he’s not causing you any trouble or anything is he?”

 

“No,” Fenris noticed Varric’s instant breath of relief. “I was just curious. I talked with him a bit last night. What kind of person is he?”

 

Varric rose an eyebrow, “What… what exactly did you two talk about?”

 

“He said he was Ben-Hassrath,” Fenris continued, one of his ears twitching as his head throbbed even harder. “Is he trustworthy?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I would say so,” Varric shrugged, clearly confused by Fenris’ chain of questions. “Tiny is pretty solid as far as qunari go. Guy sure knows how to read a room.”

 

“And he’s with Dorian, correct?” Fenris asked.

 

“W-wait,” Varric chuckled nervously, “You’re not-”

 

“No, of course not,” Fenris straightened in his seat, ears pinned nervously. “I just- I drank too much last night and I want to better understand my conversation with him.”

 

Varric’s eyebrow cocked again, “You and Tiny got drunk together? I don’t know what I expected but, yeah that sounds about right.” He shrugged and the suspicion slipped from him completely, “Yeah he and Sparkler are a bit of an item. They tend to keep it under wraps, mostly, but you can feel the heat between them from a mile away. They get up to some, uh, real creative things with each other.”

 

Fenris thought back to what Iron Bull had said about being with Dorian  _ and _ in ‘arrangements’ with others. It was clear from Bull’s conversation with the drunk man yesterday that there was something happening beyond just sex. Fenris… could imagine a lot. He didn’t need to stretch far for that. But what confused him more was the idea that anyone would  _ want _ those things, that free men would pursue that with each other.

 

Fenris was about to ask Varric another question when Hawke finally stumbled into the room. He looked worse for wear, dark circles under his eyes and his hair in complete disarray. He squinted around the common area at both Fenris and Varric in turn and then down at the food in between them.

 

“Mornin’,” His mouth sounded as if it was full of cotton. “Did I miss anything good?”

 

Hawke collapsed in an armchair next to Fenris, only after falling in realizing that he hadn’t gotten any of the food and having to heft himself forward to grab a sampling and sink back. 

 

“Not much,” Fenris answered, looking over as Hawke shoved an entire scone into his mouth. Fenris’ dream resurfaced in his mind long enough for him to remember Hawke’s hands in his hair before he shut the thought down. That hadn’t been Hawke. 

 

“Fenris was just telling me about getting drunk with Tiny last night,” Varric grinned.

 

Hawke rose his eyebrows and turned to Fenris, furiously swallowing his mouthful before saying, “Iron Bull? That’s great, did you have a good time?”

 

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. As much as he appreciated how much Hawke was looking out for him, he didn’t always feel comfortable with the bravado in which he did. Fenris was his own man after all, he didn’t need Hawke to constantly check in and know everything he was doing. 

 

“Yes,” Fenris answered, “I was thinking about going down to the training yards today.”

 

“The training yards?” Hawke asked, raising a brow, “What for?”

 

“Training,” Fenris stood, the thought of getting out there and stretching his muscles and swinging a sword sending a jolt of energy through him. Maybe putting his body and mind to work would smooth out the rough edges inside of him, center him in the here and now. The most exercise he had gotten in the past weeks was hiking the Frostbacks with a dead elk over his back.

 

“Do you mind if I join you?” Hawke asked after Fenris as he took a few steps away.

 

“You’re hungover, what are you going to do in the training yards?” Varric laughed but stopped abruptly before Fenris could turn, just catching the look Hawke threw him.

 

“If it pleases you,” Fenris said before frowning at himself, was that a normal response? “I will be leaving in about an hour.”

 

Fenris reached his room and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. Why had he felt so eager to leave Hawke’s side just now? Why did his presence unnerve Fenris so much today? He thought back to the dream before shaking it away, it wasn’t that. He had his fair share of confusing dreams and misremembered memories that painted Hawke in an uncharacteristic light. He thought back to the previous night, with Hawke gazing up at him lovingly and calling out his affections to Fenris as he crossed the yards.

 

His ears burned as he covered his face, that was it. Hawke was usually good about keeping his adoration for Fenris in check, not pressuring or assuming their relationship in any way. But he had been drunk so he had just spoken his mind. Guilt washed up in Fenris’ stomach, aching as he thought about what else Hawke was keeping under wraps from him.

 

Fenris didn’t want to be the source of Hawke’s unhappiness or to be something that Hawke shackled himself to, waiting for the day everything would be ‘normal’ between them again.

 

It was never going to normal again. They had to find a new normal. And Fenris was still not ready, and at this rate he felt he would never be ready.

 

He dressed in his leather armor quickly, ignoring how warm it felt against his red markings. Fenris kept counting on the fact that the red lyrium being removed would solve all his problems, but he knew that wasn’t the truth. He wanted to be with Hawke, he wanted to have everything that he remembered them having deep in his heart. But he wasn’t… How could he be with Hawke when he was this broken?

 

No, ‘broken’ wasn’t the right word. But what was? Fenris couldn’t shake the shadows that stalked him. He couldn’t find a foothold against everything mounted against him to try and reclaim what he knew he once had. The thought of being unabashed with Hawke, taking his face into his hands to kiss him or anything beyond that felt… it felt dangerous. 

 

Within a moment he was ready to head to the training yards, completely dressed with his new sword strapped to his back. His ear twitched as he realized he still had almost an entire hour before Hawke was going to meet him. He glanced around his room, wondering how to occupy his time when he felt his cock stir.

 

Fenris groaned to himself. Not  _ now _ . The organ seemed to have a mind of its own lately, demanding attention when Fenris felt no desire to even attempt. He must have thought about him and Hawke too much, that or his stress levels were just that high that his body craved any sort of release.

 

He took his sword off his back and sat down on the edge of his bed, reaching a hand into his leggings to carefully pull himself from them. He felt awkward immediately. His prick wasn’t even half hard but it burned for attention, his sac aching. He had to try and do something about this before he headed down to spar.

 

Fenris let out a long, low breath and wrapped a hand around himself. It felt wrong. The red lines in his hand were too hot against the sensitive skin as he attempted to bring himself to harden. He thought about Hawke again. His sleepy hung-over smile. The warmth of his body when they slept in the same tent that one time while hunting. Fenris squeezed his eyes closed and tried to pull a memory of them from before he was taken. He remembered Hawke’s room, the firelight dancing on the ceiling of Hawke’s four poster bed. He remembered the dense forest of hair on his chest, the distinct scent of his sweat after a long day, his hands as they held Fenris’ hips and guided him.

 

There, good, this was working. Fenris breath was getting heavy but he forced himself to breathe in measured, long inhales and exhales. He had to control this, to remind himself he  _ could _ do this. 

 

He remembered Hawke’s cock and felt his ears burn hot at the memory. He thought about wrapping his hand around it, his lyrium markings glowing blue as Hawke gasped a small chuckle at how it tingled against his skin. Fenris remembered how he tasted, the sounds that escaped Hawke, so unlike- so different- he was-

 

The dream rose in Fenris’ memory. His hand jerked away, as if electrocuted. Fenris growled low in his throat at himself, latching his hand back onto himself as he shut out the dream. That was not Hawke. That was not what Fenris wanted. But his mind rebelled, turning to find a different memory from deep inside of him. Of shackles, ones made of fine silver, arranging him in the center of a crowded room. All eyes on him. All those eyes glinting as Fenris flexed against the bounds, lyrium lighting uselessly before the hands descended, before they-

 

Fenris hissed as he opened his eyes and let go of his cock. Maker curse him, he couldn’t do this. He looked down at himself to see his cock seemed to at least agree with him this time. It flagged, sadly, before Fenris sighed and tucked it back into the safety of his leggings. 

 

He didn’t know why he had even tried. He stood up and grabbed his sword, fastening its sheath against his back as he decided to head down to the training yard early. Sitting around here wasn’t going to do himself any good. He took a leaf of paper and the bit of charcoal he used to practice writing, pondered over words for a minute before writing a quick note to leave on his door for Hawke.

 

‘I wanted to go early, you are welcome to follow me’ it read. Fenris had wanted to put ‘decided’ but couldn’t confidently remember how to spell it, and looking at it now he should have put ‘join me’ instead. He shrugged at himself. Hawke would understand well enough. He folded it and stuck it out from the door jam over the lock before he turned to head to the training yard.

 

He felt exposed and self-conscious without his cloak to conceal the markings, as if everyone in Skyhold was turning to look at him as he navigated the flights of stairs and halls to get outside. He was warm enough as it was and he would just take it off as soon as he was ready to spar anyways. He realized sheepishly about halfway there that he didn’t need to take his sword, since they would most liking be sparring with practice swords. But it added a layer of comfort as he walked uncovered, his red markings lit just enough to catch everyone’s eye.

 

The gardens and yards were bustling with activity, as was usual for Skyhold. Fenris usually avoided it, uncomfortable with the crowds and unwanted attention. But today felt different somehow, as if he had something to prove. He was also keen on finding the Iron Bull again to question him about their conversation with a clear head. 

 

Fenris was able to weave through the throng easily, keeping his eyes down so to not make eye contact with anyone. Luckily he heard no dropped conversations, no hushed whispers or anything caught by his ears that would mean danger for him. He willed himself to be invisible, at least until he reached where he was going.

 

The training yards were busy, but by no means full when Fenris arrived. A small knot of warriors watched and coached two others with sword and shield practicing some basic maneuvers. A few archers were taking turns at a target, one of them clearly getting acquainted with a new bow as the others made comments and suggestions. A few others milled around, caught in conversation as they shed their padded armor or pelting training dummies with wooden swords.

 

It was incredibly casual and there was no sign of any official drills or uniformed fighters. Fenris did not know what to expect when he got here, but apparently it was not this. He couldn’t help but compare it to Danarius’ estate in Tevinter, where a trainer was always present to bark out orders and hit you with a wooden sword if you misstepped.

 

He stepped cautiously into the yard, grateful when no one so much as looked in his direction. He found a supply of practice swords of various sizes, all with chipped and worn down edges. He found one that matched the length and weight of the sword on his back and turned to set his eyes on one of the dummies. Might as well stretch and try it out.

 

Fenris’ muscles complained as he stretched, complacent from his weeks in Skyhold. He pushed himself through it, careful not to strain anything as he took the moment to gaze around the yard again. No qunari in sight. He hummed in annoyance at himself, he hadn’t come just to try and find Bull had he? He needed to just try and focus on his body, on feeling every muscle and movement and finding the peace within it.

 

He took the sword in hand, adjusting to its hold before stepping through his basic stances. He swung it around a bit, feeling every pull and pinch from his unused muscles until they smoothed out. Fenris had always been trained to focus when he was fighting, to let everything else in his mind and around him fall into a white blur. All that mattered was his movements, his enemy’s counters, and keeping his - No, keeping  _ himself _ safe. 

 

It had only been a few moments and Fenris was already sweating. He cursed himself for letting his body go like this before he remembered how hot the lyrium was running inside of him. The red glowed dimly in the midday sun, silent in his markings, but still burning and reminding him of its unwelcome presence. Fenris considered stripping from his armor, continuing in his tunic or even stripping that as well. But then the lyrium would be more obvious, and he was would be more vulnerable. 

 

Fenris cast a fugitive look around to see no one had noticed him, or if they had, they didn’t care. The animosity was unexpected but freeing. He walked to one of the dummies and gave it a few curious thwacks with the sword, ears twitching at the satisfaction he got out of it. It wasn’t nearly as intensive as a practice duel but it would have to do. He shook out the last of his nerves and put himself to work.

 

He lost track of the time before he heard a voice behind him.

 

“You hit that thing any harder you’ll snap that sword in half.”

 

Fenris threw a look over his shoulder to see the Iron Bull beaming at him from across the yard, a single hand raised in greeting as he leaned on a metal axe almost as big as him. He was with a few other people, ones he was pretty sure he had seen him within the Herald’s Rest before, who also awkwardly raised a hand in greeting.

 

For some reason this embarrassed Fenris and he dropped the wooden sword. How long had they been watching him? His hair was sticking to his forehead from the sweat he worked up and the red lyrium beating heat against him. He didn’t want to be seen like this, to be judged by strangers.

 

“Don’t stop for us,” One of Bull’s companions called over with what Fenris immediately recognized as a Tevinter accent, “Keep at it!”

 

Fenris wavered awkwardly for a moment before picking up the sword and stalking across the yard to put it away. Maybe he was finished for now, he could just wait for Hawke to show up, watch him shoot a few arrows, and be done with the whole idea for today. He felt put on the spot now and was unable to talk to Bull like he had hoped when he was surrounded by strangers.

 

Iron Bull’s eye followed Fenris and watched him passively as his friends paired off, pulling closely to talk before squaring off to work through what looked like well-practiced drills. Fenris wondered if he should at least say hello, or if they would just force him to be introduced to all of Bull’s people, and then in turn made to join them in sparring. He didn’t think he had the energy for that.

 

Footsteps neared Fenris and he turned to see Hawke strolling across the yard, bow tucked under his arm as he smiled at Fenris, “Hey, how’s it going?”

 

“Fine,” Fenris crossed his arms, “I might be done.”

 

“Hey,” Fenris’ ears pinned at Bull’s low voice behind him, “I didn’t get a chance to spar with you yet, Fenris.”

 

Fenris exhaled a long breath as Hawke rose an eyebrow, opening his mouth as Fenris turned back to Bull on his heel, “Mornin’, Bull.”

 

“Hey,” Bull smiled, it was well past morning but luckily the qunari seemed to think better than to point that out before addressing Fenris. “You think you could take me in a fight?”

 

Fenris’ ears pinned back, uncomfortable with being goaded on, but also oddly intrigued by how cocky the qunari seemed to be. It had been a long time since Fenris was in a fight, and longer since he was in a fair duel where he wasn’t required to kill his opponent. But Fenris could feel Hawke’s hackles raise and could see how he squared his shoulders up. 

 

“Oh, Fenris could destroy you, trust me,” Hawke huffed a stiff laugh. “I’ve seen him kill bigger than you.”

 

“Then how about it?” Iron Bull nodded at Fenris, “Just a friendly fight between friends, your choice of practice weapon or steel.”

 

Hawke made a displeased sound as he stepped closer, frowning deeply despite his attempt at a friendly smile, “What- Why would-”

 

“Fenris?” Iron Bull rose an eyebrow at him, ignoring Hawke’s protective stance, “It’s up to you.”

 

Fenris narrowed his gaze at Iron Bull, unable to read the neutral expression and the imploring look in his eye. As if there was a puzzle for Fenris to solve here. Hawke touched Fenris’ arm protectively and he flinched away from his grasp, stepping aside as his head buzzed with all the intense attentions of the two men. 

 

“Sorry, I-” Hawke looked to Fenris apologetically about to say something else when a shout cut him off.

 

“Hey!” The yell came from across the yard, they all turned to see a man stomping forward as he waved off someone trying to stop him, “ _ Knife-ear _ !”

 

Perfect. Fenris stared down at the ground, his body tensing as Hawke stepped between them. The man crowded Hawke within an instant, craning his head over Hawke’s shoulder to continue.

 

“You! You’re the bastard that murdered the queen!” He spat, his chest against Hawke’s as he tried to push past him to get at Fenris. “You fucker,  _ murderer _ , I’ll show you-”

 

“What?” Hawke shouted back, his face red with anger as he shoved at the man’s shoulders. “You’ll  _ what _ ? Huh? You got a problem you can take it up with  _ me _ !”

 

Fenris felt as if he was shrinking, a weigh sitting low in his stomach as he tightened his crossed arms around himself, “Hawke…”

 

“You wanna take this up with the Inquisitor? Huh?” Hawke growled, shoving the guy so hard he stumbled several feet away. 

 

Their voices tangled with each others, the yelling so loud that Fenris wanted to cover his ears, wanted Hawke to just  _ stop.  _ This is what Fenris tried to avoid in Skyhold, and now it was happening so fast right in front of him. The worst part was that the man was right, Fenris  _ was _ a murderer and no pardon would ever erase it. The man had a right to be angry. So did Hawke. So did  _ Fenris _ . 

 

And he was the only one who didn’t feel permitted to express it. Instead he just felt guilty. It wasn’t fair. He wanted to be allowed to be angry.

 

“Hawke!” Fenris shouted over the yelling, Hawke threw a look over his shoulder, “Stop it, let’s just go.”

 

“But-” Hawke was about to argue when the Iron Bull suddenly stepped in, planting a hand on each man and dragging them apart. “Hey-!”

 

“That’s enough,” Bull grunted, Hawke’s feet lifted off the ground for a quick second as he moved him from the yelling man. He closed his fist around the man’s tunic, “If you have an issue with Fenris you should be taking it up with the  _ boss _ . Or did you want me to arrange a meeting with him?”

 

The man considered for a second as he looked Iron Bull up and down, finally shaking his head desperately and being released from Iron Bull’s grasp.

 

Hawke turned to Fenris, his breath heavy from the almost-fight he had engaged in, looking sharply at Fenris for an explanation, “Fenris-”

 

“No,” Fenris shook his head, watching as the offending man shoot him a glare before scurrying off with his friend. 

 

“No  _ what _ ?” Hawke almost shouted, his face still red. “You can’t just let people talk to you like that, you-”

 

“I can take care of myself, Hawke,” Fenris snapped, even though he wasn’t entirely sure about that. He was acutely aware of the Iron Bull watching him and glanced around to see that everyone in the yard was staring at them. He dropped his voice, “I do not wish to argue with you here.”

 

Hawke opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut. He looked hurt, offended, as if Fenris had just denied him something crucial. He struggled on the spot for a moment, casting a matching glance around the yard before his shoulders dropped in defeat, “I was just trying to help.”

 

Fenris nodded his understanding, but all this seemed to do was throw Hawke into one of his wide-eyed broken moods.

 

“I’m - I’ll just take a few shots, burn off this energy,” Hawke muttered, picking up his bow from where it fell and stalking off to the targets at the other side of the yard. Fenris watched him and wondered  _ why _ Hawke was so hurt by Fenris not wanting him to keep trying to defend him. Why he insisted on throwing himself in the line of fire to protect him when it was clear he neither needed or wanted it.

 

Iron Bull cleared his throat, catching Fenris’ attention again as he scratched at one of his horns, “Maybe we’ll save the sparing for another time.”

 

Fenris shrugged, his arms still tightly locked in their crossed position. 

 

“You alright?” Iron Bull asked, something about the tone of his voice much more inviting than Hawke’s had been.

 

Fenris thought back to their conversation, the weird dreams, the constant strain of stress on his body and tried to think. He uncrossed his arms, letting his arms hang limply at his sides as he reached back into his memory for his knowledge of Qun-lat.

 

“ _ We need to talk later _ ,” He managed, albeit a bit awkwardly. 

 

Fenris had expected a least a small measure of surprise from Iron Bull at his ability to speak his native language, but his expression betrayed nothing, “ _ I understand _ ,” He said back without missing a beat, “ _ I am always at the tavern _ .”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait everyone! As always take note of the tags before reading, keep yourself chill and safe!

“I spoke to the Inquisitor,” Hawke said as he sat down across from Fenris with an ale in hand. “Someone had already talked to him about it I guess, but he said the guy is actually supposed to be heading out tomorrow for one of the Ferelden camps.”

 

Fenris took a sip of his drink, his gaze wandering from Hawke to the rest of the Herald’s Rest. It was early evening and a lot of people were still finishing up their shifts or getting dinner in the dining hall, so it wasn’t quite busy yet. Most of the tables were occupied and most of the seats had people drinking and talking in them, but it wasn’t loud yet. It was even too early for the bard to be playing.

 

“I thought all those people had been weeded out already,” Hawke continued when Fenris didn’t answer him, “I told Sabrae that it was unreasonable to keep you here like this when there are pricks around just waiting to try their chances with you. It’s unfair. If you had fought back I’m sure they would’ve found some reason to make it your fault and throw you back into a cell.”

 

Fenris was exhausted by Hawke’s train of thought, “I suppose if I killed a man in self-defense they would. It would be within their rights.”

 

Hawke looked up at Fenris with wide eyes, “Wh- No. Fenris, that would not be fair! After everything we have given the Inquisition and the protection they are supposed to be giving us-”

 

Fenris leaned against the table, chin in hand, “It would be fair, Hawke. I am an agent to the Inquisition and I need to follow their law. They do not owe us anything, in fact, I believe it is us who owes them.”

 

Hawke’s face turned red under his beard and Fenris blinked away, ready for the anger Hawke did not know how to handle anymore, “They don’t own you Fenris!”

 

“I wish you would stop bringing that up,” Fenris mumbled as he stared off into the crowd. 

 

He caught a glimpse of a couple drinking across the tavern, laughing with hands clasped on the table. Why couldn’t they be like that? Fenris knew why, he knew exactly why. They just weren’t there yet. They were rebuilding their relationship from the foundation up, haunted by the memories of a life long past them. 

 

It didn’t help that Fenris did not want to be touched and that Hawke had become stir crazy within Skyhold’s walls, built up anger and resentment bursting from him at the smallest disagreement. Fenris knew that Hawke loved him, that he was coming from years of devotion to saving Fenris and having him be free and safe. A goal that now would never be fully realized with the crimes etched into Fenris’ skin, the blight that was lingering in the brands waiting to strike him down. 

 

It was not fair. Fenris knew that. Life was never fair and balanced. He just didn’t understand why he was the only one here who had the clarity to see that, why Hawke looked to him to make the decisions and to guide how they lived their lives.

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

Hawke had quieted down, shrinking against his chair as Fenris’ last comment washed over him. The deep-rooted guilt inside of Hawke rose to his eyes and Fenris couldn’t meet them. He couldn’t give Hawke what he needed to lift that burden.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hawke mumbled before taking a long swig of his ale. “I’m trying my best.”

 

Fenris smiled as he stared at Hawke’s hands tapping against the tankard, still unable to meet his eyes, “I know.”

 

Hawke took another sip, restarting the conversation after it was back on the table, “Do you want to go hunting soon? We’re still weeks out from any chance of that operation, last I heard.”

 

The hunting trips had been a perfect escape for them. Every outing into the mountains, in the cold and quiet and solitude, had done wonders for Hawke. His anger, his guilt and resentment would melt away. They were closer out in the mountains. Fenris had even found himself able to touch Hawke’s hand, his face. They had kissed in front of their small fire once, soft small kisses that almost felt normal. Once, Fenris had even worked up enough courage to sleep in Hawke’s tent, with his permission this time of course. 

 

Fenris wondered if Hawke expected to follow that thread, coax more intimacy and softness from Fenris. It was clear with recent events and the haunting dreams and memories that Fenris had nothing to give right now. 

 

“I would prefer to stay,” Fenris answered honestly. “I enjoyed practicing in the training yard, despite the unpleasantness.”

 

Hawke nodded, trying to cover up his disappointment, “Good, that’s good. You’re also making friends so, might as well keep at it.”

 

Fenris’ ears pinned, once again bristling by how overbearing Hawke was being about that. Why couldn’t Hawke just pretend Fenris expanding his horizons was normal? He used to be good at that, back before Fenris was taken. It was as if Hawke thought Fenris was delicate, easy to break, when that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

 

“Yes,” Fenris said stiffly, taking another drink, “I intend to.”

 

An awkward silence fell over them as they both sat and drank their tankards. Fenris was still scanning over the tavern, on the lookout for the Iron Bull. But he wasn’t sure if he should tell Hawke that. There was a strange tension between the two of them that Fenris did not quite understand. Although, he could imagine that Hawke wasn’t keen on anyone that could read Fenris too closely. Hawke was touchy to anyone being blunt in their observations of him, Fenris had seen him and Varric argue more than once over Hawke’s attitude and actions.

 

Hawke finished off his drink and his expression was softer, calmer, “I think I’m going to turn in early tonight,” He said as he stood up, “Last night really did a number on me, you going to stay?”

 

Fenris’ let out a small breath, relieved and appreciative of Hawke asking him, “I’m going to stay.”

 

“Alright,” Hawke nodded, hovering awkwardly for a second before he left with a small wave, “I’ll let the barmaid know you need another.”

 

Hawke slipped through the thickening crowd and out of Fenris’ sight. Fenris’ tankard was replaced a few minutes later as he watched the patrons. They came and went, moving like an ocean’s tide as men came in with eyes scanning for their friends, as others stood and headed off for their shifts elsewhere in the keep. 

 

There was a familiarity and comradery present among the others that made Fenris feel even more of a stranger here. He was on the outside, watching them all while wondering if he wanted to be a part of it or not. It was lonely, and yet he could not imagine himself settling down at any of the busy tables. How would he even do that? It seemed rude to simply walk up to a group of men to introduce yourself and assume friendship. He was just a… He knew that he could approach them if he wanted. He was a free man. But even so, the company of others felt like something reserved for someone else. Someone more deserving, someone less…

 

Fenris tipped back his drink. He watched for the Iron Bull, knowing full well he would not need to watch closely since the qunari was not exactly easy to miss. He noticed that many of the patrons, in scanning across the tavern for their friends or an open table, would set their eyes on him and stare for an uneasy moment before looking away. Fenris tried to read their eyes, seeing everything from fear, disapproval, and even nervous curiosity. 

 

Hawke hated when people stared at Fenris, but Fenris was accustomed to it. It had happened to him as far back as he could remember. He was striking, with his unusual hair and now with the threatening red glow of his brands. Even if they had no idea who he was, what he had done, who he had belonged to, Fenris attracted all eyes.

 

_ “They are envious of my beautiful and strong pet, my crowning achievement. All will look upon you and know the great works I have achieved, all here within your skin.” _

 

Danarius’ voice haunted Fenris. A sound that would not be drowned out by ale, despite Fenris’ attempts. Things were different now, no one was looking at him because of Danarius. Or were they? How could Fenris know what they thought when they saw the renowned ex-slave with the red glowing markings? 

 

_ “No need to be shy, Fenris. These men all know I would not waste a face and body like yours on protection alone. No free man in Tevinter would not see you for the whore you are.” _

 

Fenris’ tankard spilled across the table, the contents foaming and rushing against the rough wood of the table. Fenris’ hands shook as he moved to right the rolling tankard, his breath tight as his ears pinned and he looked up to see if anyone saw. His heart racing inexplicably at a simple spill, a small mistake, but one that would have seen him punished in recent circumstances. 

 

Fenris flinched as the barmaid appeared at his side, not even glancing at him as she quickly wiped down the spill and said, “I’ll get you another, don’t fret.” 

 

She strode away as Fenris sunk back in his chair, his heart thumping against his ribs as guilt and shame rose into his cheeks. He should be better than this. He was jumping at small infractions when he knew full well that there was no master to correct him, no slave driver to snap a whip in warning. He was free and he was fine, but he couldn’t make the voices of memory stop. Was he this weak or was Danarius right about him?

 

Was he made for slavery?

 

“Fenris!” Iron Bull’s voice boomed, interrupting Fenris’ thoughts as he jumped and looked up at the towering qunari. “Good to see you kicking back, you did some good work out there in the training yard today. You have a mean swing.”

 

Fenris straightened in his chair, pushing all his unsavory thoughts down and wiping any trace of emotion from his face. He couldn’t forget that Iron Bull was Ben-Hassrath and would be able to see straight through him. 

 

“I am afraid I am out of practice with a sword,” Fenris shrugged as the Iron Bull settled in a chair opposite him. The barmaid dropped two tankards on their table as she passed, tray full of even more drinks as the tavern began to fill up. The noise felt like a cloak, Fenris made anonymous by the attention the patrons had on each other, his words shielded by the wall of sound.

“If that’s true I can’t wait to see you in your prime,” Iron Bull flashed a smile before taking a drink. “You here on your own?”

 

“Hawke left,” Fenris answered briskly, knowing that was what Iron Bull was really asking. 

 

“Hmm,” Bull hummed thoughtfully, watching Fenris closely. “Everything alright?”

 

Fenris rolled his eyes as he took a drink from his tankard. Iron Bull had witnessed them arguing and Fenris was not interested in hearing his opinion on it. He had enough hand-wringing check-ins from Varric about the state of their relationship, or lack thereof, and do not need this qunari of all people butting his horned head in.

 

“Yes,” Fenris answered as he put down the tankard. 

 

Iron Bull snorted, a knowing smirk pulling on one side of his mouth, “Oh, so it’s like that?”

 

“Like what?” Fenris retorted, tightening his fist around his drink as he tried to cool his nerves. “I did not come here to have you force your way into my affairs, qunari.”

 

Fenris closed his eyes at his outburst. He had been the one who asked to talk to the Iron Bull, he had been the one who waited for him to show up and now he was acting like this? He couldn’t even blame the red lyrium, it was comfortably sedated and quiet tonight. 

 

“Alright,” Bull grunted, Fenris expected him to get up and leave but instead he leaned back in his chair. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

 

“Apologies,” Fenris said quietly before he took another swig from his tankard. “I wanted to ask about…”

 

_ “I think you know exactly what you want,”  _ Bull had said the previous night,  _ “And I think you just need to know it’s alright to want whatever it is.” _

 

Fenris cleared his throat, “It was merely a curiosity. Nothing important.”

 

The qunari raised his eyebrows, “Nothing about Hawke?”

 

“No,” Fenris shook his head. He couldn’t talk to Hawke about this. He couldn’t involve him. 

 

“Nothing about that asshole in the training yard? You seemed pretty calm under pressure there,” Bull took a drink and looked out across the busy tavern, giving Fenris space from his exacting stare. “Is there a reason you didn’t try to fight back against him?”

 

_ Because he was right.  _ Fenris shook his head, “I told you I am not interested in having another stranger involved in my affairs.”

 

“Hawke was raring to go wasn’t he?” Bull continued, at this point his lack of eye contact seemed rude. “Has he always been that tightly wound or is that a new thing for him?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about Hawke,” Fenris almost growled.

 

“Yes, you do.” Iron Bull’s gaze snapped back to Fenris, “Am I wrong?”

 

Fenris bristled, weeks of frustrations and disappointment struggling in his chest to get out. He wanted to ask after Bull and his ‘arrangements’, about his insight into what Fenris wanted. But it was about Hawke in the end, wasn’t it? Fenris wanted to be with him so badly, to have everything be the way it used to be, and it felt so far away. He felt ashamed of what he had done, of what his body wanted and could not talk to Hawke about any of it. Hawke could barely handle a stranger spitting in Fenris’ direction, much less any of the conflicting guilt and the burdens that Fenris would heap upon him.

 

“I need-” Fenris blurted before he snapped his jaw shut. He looked back at Bull, who was reclined in his chair with his one eye lidded, inviting and soft somehow. “You served in Seheron.”

 

Iron Bull made a low noise of assent. Fenris’ ears pinned at the small shift in his eye, how his shoulders tightened just slightly. 

 

“Did you ever-” Fenris stopped himself from the word ‘steal’, people couldn’t be stolen. “Take slaves prisoner while you were there?”

 

It was a common enough thing, such that Danarius had convinced Fenris that the gaps in his memory were caused by qunari stealing him and attempting to convert him. 

 

“‘Rescue’, Fenris, we rescued them,” Bull was staring at the far wall.

 

“As you say,” Fenris thought ‘rescue’ was a stretch.

 

“Not personally,” Iron Bull fidgeted with his tankard as he answered the question, “Had my fair share of involvement in settling in new viddathari, checking out ones that surrendered to us. ‘Vints would occasionally send slaves in as decoys or spies, but they never got that far. There is an obvious difference between an escaped slave who wants a second chance and one that is still thick in it, just waiting for a chance to light the gaatlok and blow up the base.”

 

Memories crept up Fenris’ spine and his ears pinned further. He sat up, pushing his chin upright in response. He wanted to say that of course it was obvious, that slaves who wanted their freedom were different from ones who were still loyal and bound but the words did not come. Self-doubt filled into his mouth and he could not open it in case it fell out.

 

“You’re not looking for the gaatlok, Fenris,” Bull said then, taking a long swig of his drink before continuing. “If that is why you are asking.”

 

Fenris’ shoulders sagged and his ears drooped, relaxing as if he had been waiting for someone to tell him that. 

 

“Last night,” Fenris felt brave, perhaps it was the nearly empty drink in his hands. “You said I knew what I wanted, and I needed to know that it was alright. What were you talking about?”

 

Iron Bull laughed suddenly, the restrained sullen expression exploding into a hearty laugh as he slapped a large hand on the table. 

 

“Is  _ that _ why you wanted to talk?” Bull managed as his laughing winded down, “I wasn’t expecting you to want to-”

 

“Wait,” Fenris cut in as his ears burned in embarrassment. “Do not misunderstand, I only want to talk.”

 

Iron Bull straightened his face out as best as he could, his amusement still evident in the shine of his eyes, “Yeah, of course. Then talk.”

 

Fenris frowned, his ears burning hot as they pinned, “What? I- I asked you a question.”

 

“I’m not going to sit here and tell you what you want,” Iron Bull shrugged a huge shoulder. “You tell me.”

 

This wasn’t going how Fenris wanted and the further he dug himself in, the more confused he was about what he had actually hoped to gain from this conversation.

 

“I do not know what you expect me to say,” Fenris’ nose crinkled in distaste of the qunari, or was it just defensive? He was giving too much away, the Iron Bull would be able to read him like a book if he didn’t get a hold of himself. “I asked what you were speaking of when you told me I knew what I wanted.”

 

“I meant with Hawke,” Iron Bull smiled softly, his one eye pinning Fenris and watching his every response as Hawke’s name rolled off his tongue. “Mostly, at least. You don’t need someone else to tell you what you are thinking or what you want. Even if it feels that way.”

 

“It does not feel that way,” Fenris growled, he felt pinpricks of heat in his markings rise with his anger and he took a long breath to try and settle it before it awoke. 

 

“Like I said,” Iron Bull smirked, “You want to talk about what you want? You tell me what it is you want.”

 

“I want an answer,” Fenris’ hands were fists upon the table. He had enough of the oxman’s mind games.

 

“To what?”

 

“To my question.”

 

“You just told me you don’t feel like you need someone to tell you how you feel.”

 

“I did not ask what I wanted, I asked what you meant when you said that,” Anger was dancing along Fenris’ skin, teasing his markings as he stared at the grains of the table and counted the ridges and lines one by one, hoping to calm himself. “I want to know what you see, what you saw when you said that.”

 

“Ahhh,” Bull sat forward, his large arms folding over the table as his hands clasped. Fenris couldn’t help but notice the array of scars dug deep into his grey skin, where part of a finger was missing. “You sure you want to hear that?”

 

Fenris looked up and met his eye, “You already told me I’m not looking for the gaatlok, tell me more.”

 

“Hmm,” Iron Bull rubbed his chin performatively as he held Fenris’ stare, “I have been told a bit about you, here and there, and it's easy to piece together and see in you. You’ve dealt with a lot of crap, and my guess is that you’re going to be dealing with the fallout of that crap for an even longer time. But you’re trying to rush it.”

 

Fenris nodded, “I was free before.”

 

“Yeah,” Iron Bull dragged out the word, “But it’s not that easy, is it? You have to do a lot of things over the second time, trying to force it to happen faster won’t work.”

 

“But-” Fenris swallowed hard, his ears pinning at the discomfort of the topic. “I need to be better, I want to be with Hawke.”

 

“Are you not with Hawke?” Iron Bull raised an eyebrow.

 

“No, I am but…” Fenris trailed off, unwilling to voice the thorn in his side. He wanted, needed to be with Hawke. It was important, integral to his life as a free man. He loved the man more than anything but he couldn’t be close to him. He couldn’t give Hawke what he wanted.

 

“It’s hard,” Iron Bull nodded as if Fenris had voiced his thoughts. “You want to talk about it?”

 

_ Yes _ , Fenris looked away. His hands tightening into fists again as his heart raced. Why couldn’t he just say yes? 

 

“You said something, last night, about agreements in which you take control away from people,” The words tasted bitter on his tongue even though something deep inside of him perked at them. “Can you tell me about that?”

 

Iron Bull stared at Fenris for a second, searchingly, as if he was trying to decide if it was safe to tell him. As if it were some sort of secret. Or maybe he was looking to see if Fenris could handle it, in which case the qunari was woefully ignorant of what a slave like Fenris was exposed to back in Tevinter.

 

“Yeah,” Bull said on a breath that deflated his entire chest, but it didn’t dampen his resolve. “Some people find it relaxing. It gives them a chance to let go, some people can’t relax or let go of their worries or responsibilities easily and it helps.” He shrugged a shoulder casually, “Some people find pleasure in it.”

 

Fenris’ ears pinned back so far he felt they would lie flat on either side of his head like a frightened horse, he silently cursed them for their betrayal as he chased the bravery he had left in him.

 

“What do you do,” He blinked, forgetting to incline his voice in question. 

 

“Depends,” Iron Bull’s lip twitched as he held back an involuntary smile, something Fenris was sure few would catch. “What are you into?”

 

“Excuse me?” Fenris’ throat nearly closed on him.

 

Iron Bull tilted his head, an expression that was made absurd by the wide rack of horns that nearly touched the table, “Why would you be asking if you weren’t interested?”

 

“I was… curious,” Fenris responded weakly, lifting his tankard to his lips to escape the conversation as he drank down the last foamy dregs.

 

“Uh huh,” Iron Bull was amused and somehow that made this all the more embarrassing. “I do all sorts of things, sometimes it's just a bit of roughness here and there. Sometimes it's verbal, or a bit of roleplay. Some people like to be spanked or tied up. Like I said, it depends.”

 

Fenris’ face flushed as he slammed the empty tankard down, heat rising in his neck and ears as he felt his lyrium prickle in response. His hands trembled as he remembered the intrusive fantasies that flooded his mind when he attempted to pleasure himself. Bound and forced by his Master, cruel words dripping in sweetness, choking and pulled and restrained as he had nothing he could but lay and take his Master in like a good-

 

“You alright?” Bull extended a hand, hovering over one of Fenris’ shaking ones before Fenris slid it away. 

 

“Fine,” Fenris blurted, staring at the surging red in the lines branded into his hands. “Fine.”

 

“Do you want to keep talking about this?” Bull’s voice was low, private. Warmth heavy in his breath and his deep voice, soothing Fenris’ raw edges.

 

“Yes,” Fenris nodded, making eye contact to show he could handle it. “Why do you…” He shook his head, “We are talking about sex, right?”

 

There was a pause before Iron Bull nodded, “Yeah. Usually.”

 

Fenris nodded even as he frowned, “‘Usually’?”

 

“Not always,” Bull clarified, “Sometimes people just want the release, the play side of it.”

 

Fenris snorted, “‘Play’?”

 

“Yeah,” Bull’s voice gained an edge, “Because it's not _ real _ . Having an agreement means that we discuss what we will do, often long before we plan on doing it. We set ground rules, boundaries, and I will only ever do what someone asks for.”

 

Fenris’ eyes narrowed, the last few words felt like bait. A bait that he found he desperately wanted to take. 

 

“What do you get out of it, if there is no sex?” Fenris challenged, his heart racing.

 

“I get to help someone, I enjoy that. I don’t need to get off to enjoy giving someone else pleasure,” Iron Bull’s voice was steady, as was his eye contact. There was nothing in his manner or speech to imply that he would be lying, or hiding something, but Fenris still couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept.

 

“What pleasure is there in- in-” Fenris blinked hard, he could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck, the shallow of his back. It wasn’t even that warm in here. Was it the lyrium? He checked in against it, sensing it shifting slightly in its slumber in response to his racing heart and sweating palms, but otherwise nothing. He was stuttering, he looked foolish and weak and he was in over his head. What was he doing?

 

“I’m with Hawke,” Fenris blurted then as if it were a conversation ender. A white flag of surrender to let him escape the hole he had dug with the qunari. “And he wouldn't never. I wouldn’t- Who would ever want that?”

 

Iron Bull sat back, shrugging his shoulders with a dubious expression, “You asked.”

 

“How many people have you- how many people have ‘arrangements’ with you?” Fenris should have gotten up and left, but he felt as if he were bolted to his chair.

 

“That’s private, but if you want assurance-” 

 

“No,” Fenris cut off the qunari, he felt light-headed. 

 

“Alright,” Iron Bull inclined his head, a show of respect. Fenris was taken aback, although he was not entirely sure why. “We don’t need to talk about it if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

 

Fenris crossed his arms tight against his chest, despite the added layer of heat it put against his body and snapped his eyes to the opposite side of the tavern. He felt offended, insulted somehow, but he didn’t know why.

 

“I did not ask to  _ inquire _ ,” Fenris snapped.

 

“You were curious,” Bull replied casually, “That’s fine.”

 

Fenris bristled, he did not need this qunari to tell him that is was ok for him to be curious. He was a free man. He knew. So why did he feel a measure of relief?

 

“You know,” Iron Bull motioned at the barmaid for a refill as Fenris slowly turned back to watch him, “You never responded to my offer of a spar, I’m scared as shit of all that lyrium crap but I know you’re a skilled fighter. It could be fun.”

 

Fenris was staring blankly at Bull, one of his ears twitched as he felt a fresh wave of bravery fight up through him. He had to grab it, run with it before he could think too much about it.

 

“Iron Bull,” His words felt stiff, Bull raised his eyebrows questioningly, “How does one make an ‘agreement’ with you?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, but plenty of content within. I know I've been slow to update this guy but I have many irons in many fires and this fic is just my go-to for fun writing between my writing projects. This chapter has more in-depth kink discussion and a few more flashbacks, so take care and enjoy!

_ “How does one make an ‘agreement’ with you?” _

 

Fenris’ heartbeat leapt up into his throat as Iron Bull raised his eyebrows in mild surprise and stood, motioning for Fenris to follow him. He hesitated for a moment, clenched fists sweating from the red lyrium as he stood and followed the giant qunari from their table in the busy tavern and up the stairs.

 

Iron Bull climbed the steps and looked around the upper level of the tavern, heading for a vacant and quiet corner with a small empty table. Fenris released a tightly held breath, thankful that the qunari wasn’t actually leading him to somewhere private, just quieter. He had almost expected Bull to take him back to his room right away, and if Fenris was being honest, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t.

 

They sat at the smaller table, both of them adjusting their seats so they had eyes on the stairs and each other. Iron Bull leaned forward on the small table, his giant arms taking up almost the entire surface as he spoke in a low, quiet voice.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Iron Bull said it slowly, his one eye watching Fenris closely. “Because if you do, we need to talk and you are going to have to be honest and open with me.”

 

Fenris nodded once, he had come this far hadn’t he? He knew how to negotiate, at least he had in the past, and been present at the recent negotiations for his status in the Inquisition. He wasn’t sure what honesty or openness had to do with it though.

 

“No sex,” Fenris blurted clumsily, his ears twitching backward as the words settled uncomfortably in the air. “As you said, you have agreements where it is not sexual, correct?”

 

Iron Bull blinked and nodded slowly, “Yeah, of course,” He answered, although Fenris wasn’t sure which part he was referencing, “That’s one of the things we need to discuss, limits and boundaries. I want to know what you want and what you do  _ not _ want, Fenris.”

 

Fenris’ eyes darted down to the grains in the table, heat rising up his neck and ears.  _ What do you want, pet? _ He had been asked that question so many times in his life and so many of those times he was unable to speak freely, instead reciting the words he knew his master wanted to hear. The very thought of being asked, performing an answer and begging for something that would happen to him regardless of his words both terrified him and stirred the blood inside of him.

 

“I do not want to have sex with you,” Fenris said again, this time looking Bull square in the eye strongly, even as his hands shook. 

 

“Alright,” Iron Bull smiled softly, holding eye contact easily. “We won’t have sex. Thank you for telling me that boundary, Fenris, is there anything else you don’t want to do?”

 

A warmth rolled over Fenris even though his hands were still shaking. This felt absurd, childish even. It would only be a matter of time before the qunari changed his mind and took Fenris how  _ he _ wanted. Fenris wanted to believe him, of course he did, but it was difficult. The entire conversation felt ridiculous, he had expected the agreement to be a few simple words before the Iron Bull would take over.

 

“I…” Fenris squeezed his eyes closed, trying to bring himself back to the conversation. What else did he not want to do? What a strange question. “I don’t know.”

 

“Fenris,” Iron Bull’s voice lowered as he put a palm flat against the table, “I will only make an agreement with you if you trust me. I need you to trust that I will not hurt you or do anything to you that you do not want. And that the moment you want this arrangement, or anything we are doing, to stop- that I will immediately stop. You are in control here.”

 

A nervous laugh burst from Fenris’ chest, “I thought the entire point of this was to give you that control.” Fenris shook his head as another laugh rattled out, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“This is how it’s supposed to be done,” Iron Bull’s voice was steady and firm, unshaken by Fenris’ response. “Free, consenting men talk this crap out and respect each other’s boundaries. If you want I can get someone I’ve done this with to talk to you, if you want outside assurance-”

 

“I am not going to talk to anyone about this,” Fenris shook his head quickly, wishing he had an ale to help ease his words from the tight cage in his chest. “I do not want anyone to know.”

 

Iron Bull tilted his head slightly, “You have to tell Hawke.”

 

“No,” Fenris closed his eyes, his fingers curling into claws on his thighs as he closed out the thought of Hawke  _ knowing _ this about him. “This is my shame, I cannot have him be hurt by this.”

 

Iron Bull let out a low whistle and Fenris opened his eyes to frown at the unexpected response, catching the qunari leaning back and raising his eyebrows, “Crap.” He said flatly, “There is a lot we need to talk about.”

 

“No, there is not,” Fenris frowned deeper, thoroughly confused and frustrated now. “You are making this more difficult than it has to be.”

 

Iron Bull laughed, his smile lingering as he turned back to Fenris, “Why do you want to do this, Fenris? Tell me why, exactly, you want to make an agreement with me.”

 

Fenris exhaled sharply, “You told me that you help people by taking their control away, and I need that. I need to... “ Fenris struggled, his mind racing to every unwelcome erection, every failed attempt to bring himself to completion, every touch from Hawke that he denied both of them out of fear of what he was and what was done to him. He couldn’t tell Hawke, why did this qunari think he could tell him? Because he was Ben Hassrath? “I need to be fixed so I can be with Hawke.”

 

“Why do you think having me take your control away will ‘fix’ you?” Iron Bull narrowed his eyes and Fenris hated that he was still smiling, as if this was a joke. “How are you ‘broken’?”

 

Fenris’ hands balled into tight fists against his legs, the heat of the red lyrium pulsing in his fingers as he forced himself to breathe slowly so as not to accidentally call up the red within him. If he hadn’t already gotten this far he would get up and leave. 

 

“I can’t be with Hawke,” Fenris said as he stared down at the table, his shoulders trembling at how vulnerable he was making himself to what was essentially a  _ stranger _ . Someone he was offering himself to. He was such a fool. “Not as I am. He believes I am only pushing him away because of the red lyrium, but that isn’t true. He remembers me as a different man, a free man, someone who could… who could…”

 

Fenris’ breath became tight, shuddering in and out of him before he paused to collect himself. He took in a long breath, stared up at the ceiling to center himself in his body and bring his eyes back to Iron Bull, “Who could have sex like a free man can.”

 

Iron Bull’s smile was gone, but his gaze was inviting, warm, “What’s stopping you?”

 

_ Such a good slut for me, your body was made for this, wasn’t it? This is why the Maker made elves weaker than men, to serve like this. You look so beautiful like this. _

 

“I can’t,” Fenris shook his head, desperate to shake the memories from his mind. “I cannot undo the things they did to me. He got into my head and I can’t change myself, I can’t separate my own thoughts from his words, from what he did to me. It all returns to me and it won’t let me be free.”

 

The Iron Bull was still sitting back in his chair, his eye soft but calculating as he trailed it from Fenris to the wall beside them. The privacy from his gaze was comforting and Fenris couldn’t help but be grateful as hurt swelled and sat in his chest. He felt better having released the thoughts from inside of him, but the ache remained thick even as he felt it slowly ease from him. 

 

“So you and Hawke haven’t…?” Iron Bull asked softly.

 

Fenris shook his head.

 

Iron Bull considered this, “Have you jerked off since -”

 

Fenris shook his head again.

 

“Damn,” Iron Bull frowned at his feet as if they were a particularly troubling puzzle. “That’s rough. To make sure I understand, you want to do this because you think you are… hmm, let’s say ‘predisposed’ to want things like what you experienced?”

 

Fenris let out a long breath, his ears drooping a bit as he nodded minutely. 

 

“And you want to change that,” Iron Bull nodded to himself, squinting a bit as if he was planning something. “I don’t blame you, Fenris. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

 

Fenris shrugged a shoulder, unsure of how to respond. He disliked when he was pitied or treated like he was a damaged thing, but in this case he knew it was the truth so he couldn’t blame anyone for pitying him. However, it felt genuine, and when he looked up at Iron Bull he could see that the sympathy he extended was not matched with judgment or pity. Maybe they could do this.

 

“You are going to have to tell Hawke,” Iron Bull blinked back at Fenris, his voice firm. “I won’t do anything unless he knows. But we’ll talk about that after, we got a lot to go over.” He leaned back over the table, matching Fenris’ stare, “You are going to need to tell me what you want to work through, what exactly you want to do and don’t want. I don’t want to put you in a situation where this hurts you or makes you worse.”

 

“I do not think you can make me worse,” Fenris smiled tightly.

 

“I don’t want to, but it can happen.” Iron Bull countered.

 

“I would kill you before you could hurt me.” Fenris’ words came out before he could stop himself. He flinched internally as he heard himself, his ears pinning nervously as his eyes widened.

 

But the Iron Bull just chuckled, “Yeah, yeah, that’s another thing I’m worried about.”

 

“Apologies, I-” What? Made a joke? Fenris didn’t have a graceful way to get himself out of this one.

 

Iron Bull waved a dismissive hand, “No, I get it, but that’s one reason we need to talk out what you want and what you don’t want me to do. And we need a watchword, so you can signal that you want me to  _ stop _ before you try killing me or doing that red lyrium crap.”

 

Fenris’ ear twitched as he tried to follow, holding back an uncomfortable smirk at the mention of the red lyrium pulsing inside his markings, “I will refrain from doing ‘that red lyrium crap’.”

 

“Yeah,” Iron Bull’s eye brow knit as he dragged out the word, “Not going to lie, that lyrium stuff scares the crap outta me. It won’t, I don’t know, jump out at me or anything will it?”

 

“It shouldn’t,” Fenris’ good humor fell away, realizing that this was something important to tell the qunari about if they were going to do anything. “It is lulled by the cold, I can keep it under control as long as I don’t get too warm. It is hot to the touch, but as long as I am cold and calm it should not be enough to burn you.”

 

“Huh, good to know,” Iron Bull narrowed his eyes at Fenris’ exposed arms, “We will have to make sure wherever we do this will work for that. I want to make sure you are calm and satisfied with whatever we do so you gotta tell me about anything you know will set you or the lyrium off.”

 

Fenris thought about it for a moment but his anxieties, his unwanted desires, and his relatively new sense of dignity and agency tangled up inside of him. He wanted to have his control taken away, but he also did not want to be imprisoned or made to feel like he belonged to someone again. Or did he? He wanted the peace of mind of not needing to think or make decisions, but he did not want to be hurt or told that he was lesser. He didn’t know. 

 

“You should just treat me as you would any of your… others,” Fenris frowned at the table, setting his jaw. He didn’t want to be treated softer or harder because he was an ex-slave. 

 

“I treat everyone differently, every arrangement is different,” Iron Bull explained, and Fenris pinned his ears back at how much sense that made, and how foolish he felt. 

 

“Fine,” Fenris said, using the word to fill his silence as he traced the grain lines in the table with his eyes.

 

“How about this,” Iron Bull offered, adjusting his seat, “I will tell you some examples of things I do, you can tell me if any of it interests you or not. We can go from there.”

 

Fenris blinked up at Iron Bull, “As you say.”

 

“Alright,” Iron Bull rubbed the short beard on his chin, “A few things I said before seemed to pique your interest, so how do you feel about being tied up?”

 

Fenris’ breath caught in his chest, “Yes. I mean, yes, that’s interesting.”

 

“Ropes?” Iron Bull rose an eyebrow.

 

Fenris nodded, heat rising up into his pinned ears as his shoulders stiffened nervously.

 

“Chains?” Iron Bull narrowed his eye, as if he knew the answer.

 

The sound of chains rattling rung in Fenris’ ears, ringing from a dark place deep inside of him. Heavy chain hanging from his collar, jerked forward, handed off to someone else. The sound of them as they hung from his wrists, his ankles, metal cuffs restraining him as Danarius knelt over the table. Pain, pain,  _ pain. _

 

“No,” The word thrust itself from somewhere even further inside of Fenris. Raw and fierce.

 

Iron Bull nodded, “So, ropes. I can do a lot with that. Some people like having them tied around their bodies, like harnesses.”

 

“Ha,” Fenris breathed the almost-laugh, “I thought qunari using those ropes to tie Viddathari up was just a story magisters made up.”

 

Iron Bull made a face that was equal parts confused and almost offended, “What?”

 

“The armor you- apologies,” Fenris corrected himself, “The armor qunari wore in Seheron, with the red ropes. I thought that the stories of them using the same rope to tie their elves up was just something that magisters told their slaves to frighten them. Is it actually true?”

 

Iron Bull blinked at Fenris, a small flash of horror in his gaze, “I- Uh- They don’t-” He rubbed between his eyes with a massive thumb, massaging out the kink there, “Tamassarins would use  _ similar _ ropes for pleasure and stress-relief but - did they really tell you that?” 

 

Fenris felt strangely embarrassed, “They said many things that are not true. I am afraid I am still sorting facts from falsehoods but… to answer your question, I am familiar and would… I would like that.”

 

There was a small pause before Iron Bull cleared his throat, clearly setting aside his thoughts about what Fenris told him for later.

 

“Would you want your wrists or ankles tied or free?” He asked, returning to the conversation easily. “What about being tied  _ to _ something?”

 

“Fine,” Fenris answered, “Neither would be an issue.”

 

It was becoming easier for Fenris to think about this, for him to talk about it. He wasn’t exactly sure why but he felt it must have to do partially with how the Iron Bull imparted no judgement, no outrage or horror at Fenris’ answers. As if this was normal. He could almost 

imagine allowing the qunari to loop ropes around him and tighten them against his skin until he was bent to a shape he preferred, not unlike how Danarius had him on many occasions.

 

“You sure?” Iron Bull checked, “It might be a bit softer on yourself to keep some control, at least at the start.”

 

“I can phase out of any ropes you tie me in,” Fenris shrugged, “I always have that freedom.”

 

“That’s good,” iron Bull nodded, “But I want you to try to use your watchword instead, to tell me if you want it to stop or me to change what I’m doing. You shouldn’t feel that you need to escape what we are doing, you should know that I will listen and respect you if you change your mind.”

 

Fenris’ ear twitched uncomfortably, he wasn’t sure why exactly this line of talk made him uneasy, “What is a ‘watchword’?”

 

“It's a signal,” Iron Bull answered, “To tell me to stop.”

 

“Why don’t I just tell you to stop?” Fenris blinked.

 

“Because sometimes, depending, people like to play out situations where they might say ‘no’ or ‘stop’ and not actually mean it.” Iron Bull explained with a shrugged shoulder.

 

Fenris’ eyes darted away, his ears pinning at the thought, at the unpleasant memories it brought up. 

 

“I will not be doing that,” Fenris said stiffly.

 

“Still, we need a word that tells me that you want me to stop everything,” Iron Bull answered, his tone firm. “This is a condition I require if we are going to do this.”

 

“Fine,” Fenris looked away, crossing his arms. 

 

“Do you want to pick one or do you want me to give you one?” Iron Bull asked, pausing for Fenris to answer. When Fenris said nothing he continued instead, “I usually give people who are unsure the watchword ‘ _ katoh _ ’, we can use that if you like.”

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes as he fished through his memory for the meaning of the word, it meant something like ‘mastery’, something about weaponry? It seemed meaningless in the context, but Fenris couldn’t help but poke fun at the ridiculous concept, “What about  _ parshaara _ ?”

 

Iron Bull frowned as a smile crept upon his face, “Okay, I get it, you speak pretty decent qunlat. But I’m not going to let you have a watchword that defeats the purpose of it.”

 

Fenris smirked, the word ‘ _ parshaara _ ’ simply meant ‘enough’, “Fine, does it have to be in qunlat?”

 

“No,” Iron Bull shook his head, “Just something you wouldn’t accidentally slip out.”

 

“Like qunlat, I understand,” Fenris’ smirk widened, he was feeling more comfortable now. As if he was drunk on the vulnerability, on the frank sexual talk between them. “Would ‘ _ valo-kas _ ’ be acceptable?”

 

Iron Bull laughed, “Yeah, that’s a pretty good one for you. I’ve seen how you use a greatsword, won’t forget it anytime soon. But now uh, I think we gotta talk about Hawke again.”

 

Fenris’ smile fell, the comfort and ease he had built up slipped away like sand through his fingers as he crossed his arms tighter around him, “I would prefer not to.”

 

“I know,” Bull relaxed in his seat, as if it would coax Fenris into relaxing too. “But we aren’t going to be doing anything unless you tell him about our arrangement. I know things are complicated between you two but I don’t want to piss him off.”

 

A weight laid deep in Fenris’ chest, sinking through his ribs to settle painfully around his heart. He couldn’t tell Hawke. Telling him would bring to light all the disgusting, horrible things Fenris had been carrying around inside of him. Hawke knew the nature of what Fenris had been subjected to and Fenris had seen the terror of it dance in Hawke’s eyes every time they touched, in the way he had withdrawn and blamed himself that first time they kissed all those weeks ago in the Frostbacks. 

 

Fenris was supposed to be recovering. He was supposed to be finding his old self again, the man that was free and strong and knew who he was, all that time ago in Kirkwall. If Hawke knew that Fenris was only stirred by thoughts of his own abuse he would never touch Fenris again. He would be destroyed by the idea. Fenris couldn’t come to him with this.

 

“I won’t hurt him,” Fenris said quietly, his fingers digging into his ribs.

 

“You will if you don’t tell him,” Iron Bull matched his quiet tone, “He already knows you aren’t opening up to him, if you don’t tell him he’s going to know something’s up. You can’t break his trust, unless you don’t want to stay together with him.”

 

Fenris’ eyes snapped back to Bull, “We are going to stay together. I love Hawke.” 

 

Iron Bull smiled, “Yeah, I know. So you gotta tell him.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry for the long wait on this one. I was juggling this chapter between a lot of writing work but I am now posting updates to this fic on ko-fi for two weeks before posting here now, so check out my [tumblr if you're interested](http://glowyelfboyfriend.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Heads up this chapter does contain a scene with consent issues so if that is something you are sensitive to please take care in reading!

Fenris and Iron Bull’s conversation continued into the night, weaving between additional rules and boundaries to more casual topics. When Fenris eventually said his goodbyes and headed back to his room, his head was buzzing with both anxiety and excitement. He was surprised with how comfortable the qunari made him feel. How he turned what had been haunting Fenris into something considerably tame and normal.

 

It felt like the right direction, or at least something worth trying. The relief at having something he could do to try to lift the shame and ghosts from his skin let him breathe. He had been trapped, unable to discuss or tear out the thing that dogged him, and now at least he had a plan.

 

It felt good. 

 

But, of course, Fenris awoke the next morning paralyzed with fear. What had been a comfortable comradery the previous night turned to untrusting paranoia. His elation at having expressed his unwanted desires twisted and darkened into deep shame. He curled on his bed, the red heat beating under the sheets as he held his head in his hands, groaning at the thought of telling  _ anyone _ about this.

 

Why did he do it? Why had he agreed? Was there any way he could get out of it now? Even if he convinced the Iron Bull to drop their tentative plan, there was no way Fenris could pluck the knowledge from him. The qunari knew, he knew more about Fenris than he should, and why wouldn’t the man use it for his own benefit if Fenris withdrew their arrangement? 

 

Fenris’ breaths came quicker, his body shaking as his mind unraveled into memories and terror. Even if his body was attuned to the desires of his old master, it did not mean it was what he  _ wanted _ . His cock stirring at the thought of being bound, of being pressed and dominated and spreading himself to be taken did not mean he wanted it from this qunari. How could he have ever agreed to do anything like this, especially with anyone other than Hawke?

 

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe deeply. Inhale. Exhale. His lungs trembled at the effort but softened and followed his gentle command within a few moments. The thoughts fell away slowly as Fenris retreated, focusing on his slowing heartbeat, the thoughts leaving behind shadows and aches.

 

He was fine. It was not that serious. Besides, should the Iron Bull ever choose to retaliate it was not like Fenris was helpless. Fenris could change his mind, Bull had said it himself more than once, and everything would stop. Even if he didn’t believe it, he knew that the qunari had a reputation he cared about and that, once again, Fenris was not helpless. 

 

Fenris pulled the sheet off of him and dressed, trying to ignore the near-constant buzzing of anxiety and thoughts in his head. Nothing was happening yet. He could relax. He could take the day normally. He left to find breakfast, collecting a handful of fresh bread, an apple and some cheese from the nearby common area before returning to the private safety of his room.

 

Wandering around Skyhold or sitting in the common area felt too exposed, too risky. He did not want to talk to anyone right now, especially Hawke. He needed to sort his thoughts out before he could move forward in any direction.

 

Fenris dropped his pickings on his desk and pulled up his chair to hunker over a sheaf of paper. He had been working on his penmanship and spelling lately by sorting out his memories on paper as he recovered. He found the exercise helpful, especially in working through particularly difficult memories or feelings. So why not try with all of this? 

 

He picked up his charcoal and pulled the paper towards him, trying to figure out where to even start. The uncomfortable memories? The unsuccessful attempts to pleasure himself? He tapped the charcoal against the paper for a second, ears drooping as he considered before he began writing about his conversation with the Iron Bull.

 

Fenris started with the negotiation. They had discussed so much that it all tangled in Fenris’ mind when he tried to recall it, but suddenly etching it all down on the paper set the words in a structure that he could understand and remember.

 

They agreed to no sex. The idea of doing anything of this nature without sex still felt foreign, but Fenris insisted and Iron Bull agreed without hesitation. Iron Bull was going to work up to tying Fenris in a qunari-style rope harness. His idea being to start with ‘lighter’ ties before tying Fenris’ wrists and ankles, if at all. 

 

Fenris found this scale odd, why not just do the full arrangement? It wasn’t like Fenris had never been tied up before. But Iron Bull would not be swayed.

 

Iron Bull would only refer to Fenris by his name, Fenris had refused the idea of ‘pet names’ or niceties flat out. Bull had wanted to discuss how he would speak to Fenris ‘in scene’, which had almost seemed strange to Fenris, but they ended up agreeing to Iron Bull only speaking in a calm tone and only kind words. 

 

Fenris paused his notes, making a face at the words he was writing. This felt ridiculous. This couldn’t be how free men had sex. It had never been like this with him and Hawke, had it? He tried to think back, back into the fogs of his tampered and damaged memory for the traces that remained intact. He could vaguely recall Hawke asking him permission for things, or stopping mid-act to check on Fenris and change their course. But they had never really sat down to discuss at length and in detail the minute details of their lovemaking.

 

Absurd. But as uncomfortable as Fenris felt at every detail and topic, he also felt reassured. He wanted to set the boundaries, and the more he set and the more Iron Bull asked about, the more lines Fenris found that he did not want anyone to cross.

 

Their discussion about touch had been the most difficult. Fenris immediately responded that he did not want to be touched. At all. The red lyrium ached in his brands, but it was more destructive and harmful to others. He was sure he could control himself, given the right environment, but he couldn’t be sure. Of course, that had all been an excuse to try and dissuade the qunari from touching Fenris at all. Which was childish, Fenris supposed. How would Bull tie him up without touching him? 

 

This somehow brought up the topic of something Iron Bull called ‘aftercare’, something he defined as the activities after the ‘scene’ to bring Fenris down from any emotions it would bring up. He had given the example of cuddling, which had made Fenris nearly double over with laughter. It was out of the question. But he couldn’t help but notice the discomfort and nervous laughter gather deep in his stomach, churning into a deep misery that returned to him now.

 

Talking about doing this with Iron Bull had stirred up so much inside of him, blowing the dust off of things he thought he was at peace with. He was struggling with reclaiming his sexuality, as he had all those years ago in Kirkwall, but it was more than that. The fact that he had already worked on this, he had already crawled from this pit by his fingernails, it all turned stale and grey when he looked at himself now. 

 

It had all been lost to him. He had been set so far back, exposed to more torment, more abuse and more horror he had to learn how to carve away from his flesh so it would stop festering. It was not fair. He had lost so much time, again, and there was no free man his age who had to fight and struggle to simply hold his own cock. 

 

Fenris rubbed his face, groaning openly as he reminded himself to breathe. 

 

His ears twitched at a knock at his door.

 

“Fenris? You up?” Hawke’s voice on the other side of the door.

 

Fenris cursed quietly, hesitating for only a moment before he went to open the door. 

 

Hawke was on the other side, fur-lined cloak wrapped haphazardly around his body, his bow strung and upon his back. 

 

“Hawke,” Fenris nodded stiffly in greeting, mentally sweeping the heavy thoughts away from himself. “Going somewhere?”

 

“Yeah,” Hawke smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. He seemed weary as he stood, dark circles around his eyes. “I heard from the hunters that the elk herd is heading down the mountains. It's too early for their migration, so I’m going to try and track them and see if they are just moving to another grazing site. And, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to join me?”

 

Hunting, that was good for Hawke, he was always happier out in the peaks with his bow in his hands. But Fenris still did not want to follow him, not alone, not with the shadows casting as far as they did now.

 

“Are you going to be camping?” Fenris asked, watching as Hawke’s smile wavered at singular ‘you’ in his response.

 

“No,” Hawke blinked and his smile faded. “It’s just a day trip. I thought, I don’t know…”

 

Fenris’ ear twitched. Only a day? He could do that, possibly. It wouldn’t take him far or keep him long, not while he was still working out whether he wanted to go ahead with this plan of his and the Iron Bull’s. But it also provided an opportunity to talk to Hawke about it.

 

Fenris’ stomach dropped, “I would prefer to stay,” He said suddenly, “Perhaps another time.”

 

“Right,” Hawke nodded, adjusting his pack on his shoulder, “We have lots of time for that, just, uh, let me know if you want to. I’m going to head out-”

 

“Wait,” Fenris’ shoulders tensed as he spoke. He knew he had to talk to Hawke. He knew he had to. But the reality of voicing any of this to Hawke was terrifying, he didn’t even know how he would explain any of the arrangement he made with Iron Bull. 

 

Hawke paused in the doorway, eyebrows lifted gently in surprise. Fenris had to follow up with something, even if he wasn’t ready.

 

“Come in,” Fenris gestured to his small private room. Hawke blinked, head tilting slightly in response as Fenris had never allowed him, or anyone, into the sanctuary of his room. “Sit down, I need to finish this note.”

 

Fenris turned and sat back at his desk, ears twitching as Hawke followed him and lowered himself slowly to the edge of Fenris’ bed in his cloak and armor. It was awkward, to say the least. Fenris looked back at his messy notes and realized he had been interrupted when he had been writing his and Iron Bull’s agreements regarding touch. The tension in his body spiked as he stared at the words. What was he doing? 

 

Hawke said nothing behind Fenris and when he looked back Hawke was looking around with quiet interest, wringing his gloved hands in his lap. Fenris turned back to the paper, hands shaking, and tried to continue.

 

Fenris had voiced his boundaries on touch to the Iron Bull, that his body physically did not respond well due to the red lyrium and that he was not comfortable with touch. Iron Bull had asked about specific instances, everything from rubbing reassuringly to gentle caresses to how Fenris would respond to him holding his hand to check on his blood circulation. Fenris had mulled over it, deciding that he absolutely did not want to be caressed, he never wanted his face or ears touched but any touch necessary for the act or for checking on his well being would be acceptable.

 

He wrote down the note and added a thick period at the end of the sentence. Final, official, his ears burned knowing that Hawke was sitting behind him unawares. Fenris had lied to Iron Bull, he said he did not want to be touched but the truth was that he craved it with every fibre of his being.

 

Fenris turned in his chair to look at Hawke who met his eyes with the soft, searching brown warmth of his own. Fenris wanted to touch but he couldn’t shake the voice inside of him, the voice louder than his own and the growling red lyrium’s that he was  _ not allowed _ . They had kissed, that was true, but every kiss reminded Fenris of their time in the Frostbacks, when Hawke had realized the depth of Fenris’ wounds. How easily Fenris would bend to the desires of anyone that laid their hands upon him.

 

Fenris was marked, lines of ownership etched into his skin from a man now rotting, but marked nonetheless. Hawke treated him as if he were delicate, damaged, as if his wounds oozed and ached at every touch and kiss. Fenris wanted to be better for him. He wanted to prove that he was more than the wrongs impressed upon him. 

 

What was stopping him from touching Hawke? Besides the fear that cooled in his belly and the terror that shook his hands until he tightened them into fists. Hawke  _ loved _ him. He was free and Hawke still loved him even after all these years.

 

“Hawke,” Fenris’ voice was barely a whisper and yet it still broke as it left his throat.

 

Hawke’s eyebrows rose and Fenris stood from the desk, swallowing down his apprehension as he crossed the room and grabbed Hawke by the shoulders. Cloak balled up in his fists as he pressed himself quickly between Hawke’s legs where he sat and found Hawke’s lips. 

 

Hawke’s lips were soft, his beard scratching against Fenris’ face as he eagerly kissed back. Fenris’ fingertips fanned carefully over Hawke’s cheek, wanting to touch but anxious of hurting him with his lyrium. Hawke’s mouth was warm, he tasted faintly of citrus and smoke.

 

It felt good. Fenris opened his eyes to watch Hawke, his eyes closed in serene calm as the tension in this face fell away. Hawke’s hands gently held Fenris’ back, his strong arms enclosing Fenris where he stood over Hawke. 

 

Fenris was in control and it was alright. Hawke was breathing in time with Fenris as their mouths gently worked at each other. Hawke’s chin tipped up as Fenris flicked his tongue against his.  _ He’s good with his mouth, would you like to sample him? Go on pet, let him taste you. _ Fenris’ lips were slack as Hawke pushed against him, letting him dominate and explore his mouth.

 

Wait. Fenris tightened his grip on Hawke’s cloak as he returned to himself, kissing back furiously, his teeth scraping at Hawke’s lip as he countered. Hawke let himself be shoved back, his bow and quiver hitting the mattress as Fenris pushed his shoulders back. He planted a knee against the bed, half-straddling Hawke as he growled into the kiss.

 

Hawke pulled away, his breath heavy, “Fenris?”

 

Fenris swallowed up his voice, kissing him as if his life depended on it. Hawke kissed back without question, following Fenris’ pace as he straddled Hawke against the bed. Fenris knew Hawke was lying against his weapon and his pack but didn’t care. He kept kissing him, his heart racing in his chest as he pressed himself down on Hawke’s lap.

 

He couldn’t stop. If he allowed himself to think, to feel, for more than a moment, it would all come crashing down. He couldn’t let Hawke break away for any reason, he had to race with this bravery on bloody feet until he was  _ better _ . If he could just do this once, if he could get through this, he would be stronger next time.

 

“Fenris,” Hawke gasped against Fenris’ lips as Fenris’ hands ran down his chest, against layers of thick winter clothes and leather armor. Just a little further. Just a little more.  _ It would all be over soon. He just needed to be good and attentive and he would be rewarded for his obedience _ .

 

“Enough,” Fenris growled as he bit Hawke’s lip gently, sucking it into another rough kiss. He ground his crotch against Hawke’s lap and trembled as he felt Hawke harden beneath him. Hawke was watching him through the kiss, his eyes questioning and unsure. Fenris closed his eyes and ground again, hoping Hawke would just do it back. His own cock was limp, aching as he forced it against the hardness in Hawke’s lap over and over.

 

“ _ Fenris _ -” Hawke broke the kiss again, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

 

The red prickled in Fenris’ brands, bright and hot as Fenris shoved Hawke down against the bed again.  _ Just like the slaves back home _ , the red lyrium licked its lips lazily, eyes scanning over the feast Fenris had presented it.  _ Do you remember? When Master set you upon the weaker slaves for his guest’s entertainment, when you would twist their limbs and grab them by the collar as you took and took and took… _

 

Fenris froze, his breath quick against Hawke’s lips as the man carefully fanned his fingers against his back and whispered his name again. His voice a million miles away. 

 

 _Master would snap his fingers when it was time to stop. And you listened so well, a tamed beast, aren’t you?_ The chain at Fenris’ collar would yank him backwards and down to his knees, he would have to scramble on the floor to assume the kneeling position required of him. They would laugh and laugh. One of Master’s guests would grab him by the ear, drag him to his exposed cock. _The novelty of such a fierce, ruthless creature that could be mastered and cowed so easily._

 

“Fenris!” Hawke’s voice rang in Fenris’ ears, impossibly loud as he jumped off the bed.

 

Fenris’ breath was pumping in and out of his chest, light-headed as he gripped onto a wall for support as Hawke stood to stare on helplessly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hawke looked as though he had struck Fenris, hands working uselessly in front of him. “I’m sorry, Fenris, what can I… Are you alright?”

 

“Stop,” Fenris managed between heaving breaths as he squeezed his eyes closed, chased the ghosts from his mind and centered himself. How much more of this? How much more would he have to endure before he was free? “Don’t do that.”

 

Hawke’s mouth snapped closed, his hands curling into fists and dropping to his sides. Fenris ran his hands against his face, the red lyrium in his palms sweltering even as he felt it slink back into the cold darkness within. 

 

Shame poured in where the red lyrium vacated. 

 

“Apologies,” Fenris said through gritted teeth, hating everything within himself. “I should not have.”

 

“It’s alright, Fenris,” Hawke tried.

 

“No,” Fenris shook his head, blinking at the ceiling as he steeled himself. He knew he had to tell Hawke. He had to. But he could not right now. “It’s not alright. We can discuss it later.”

 

“Later,” Hawke released a held breath and lingered. Fenris wanted him to leave, almost as badly as he wanted Hawke to wrap his arms around him. “Of course. We can talk whenever you’re ready, I’ll be back by nightfall, ok?”

 

Fenris squared his jaw as he nodded, thoroughly embarrassed and gutted by his vulnerability. He forced himself to meet Hawke’s eyes as he passed him, his face flushed red as he righted his pack and bow and left the room. The door closed and the sound of it felt like a blow against Fenris’ stomach. 

 

-

 

Locating a qunari in Skyhold was surprisingly difficult to do. Actually, finding one wasn’t the issue, it was finding the specific qunari you were looking for. Iron Bull had told Fenris where his quarters were but the directions were meaningless when Fenris barely knew more than how to get from his wing to the tavern and back. He vaguely recalled the name of the wing, and after an hour of wandering the grounds aimlessly and spotting almost a dozen Tal Vashoth coming and going, he swallowed his pride and asked someone.

 

One of the many attendants in the main hall took Fenris’ question in as her eyes flicked up and down his person. She held her ledger a little tighter as she answered, giving Fenris detailed directions as she scribbled a quick note. Fenris wondered what it was she wrote down, who she was going to pass this information along to, that the assassin of the Queen of Ferelden was looking for the Iron Bull.

 

Fenris let the judgement roll down his back as he turned away from the great hall and climbed the stairs in the direction she had pointed. It didn’t matter. They were well within their right to be apprehensive, to watch him with suspicion. After all, he was still harbouring living red lyrium within his body, within the stronghold of the Inquisition.

 

The stone steps gave way to a plushly carpeted hall, faded paintings hanging on the wall like an audience of ghosts as Fenris passed through. The doors had numbers and designations painted by hand, a hurried attempt at organization, and Fenris counted them until he found the one that belonged to Iron Bull.

 

Fenris rapped his knuckles against the door, casting a glance up and down the hall before the door opened. 

 

“Oh, hey,” Iron Bull peered out before he opened the door wide and beckoned Fenris in, “I was just uh, polishing my axe. Heheh. Nothing funny, I am  _ actually  _ polishing my axe.”

 

Fenris blinked as he stared after Iron Bull into his quarters. The room was about three times the size of his own, an impressive four-poster bed set askew at one corner with big bright windows letting in the sun. It was warm, a fire burning in the fireplace as Iron Bull hunkered down on a bench and resumed rubbing a greataxe with a rag. 

 

Was this where Iron Bull had his ‘scenes’ with others? Fenris narrowed his eyes, unsettled by the luxury fluffed into the furnishings and the dated wallpaper. It reminded him of the guest rooms in Danarius’ estate, the small ones in the warmer part of the mansion, where Danarius set up his guest’s staff, or men he especially hated. 

 

“How’s it going, Fenris?” Iron Bull looked up with a small lopsided smile, “Did you give our conversation from last night some more thought?”

 

Fenris cleared his throat and crossed his arms as he took two restrained steps inside and let the door close behind him.

 

“Yes,” He said stiffly, “I wanted to talk to you about it again.”

 

“Ah,” Iron Bull closed his jar of polish and tossed his rag aside, wiping his hands on another as he turned to Fenris seriously. “What’s on your mind?”

 

Fenris’ arms tightened around himself, realizing he had not thought this far ahead. A thousand concerns and questions buzzed through his mind, unable to find a place to spill from. All he knew was that Iron Bull was the only person he could express his misgivings and fears to.

 

Fenris cleared his throat as he cast his eyes around, “Is this where we would conduct the scene?”

 

“Unless you prefer something else,” Iron Bull answered, narrowing his eye knowingly at Fenris. “If you want, I can show you my ropes and other crap. Give you an idea of what I have.”

 

“It is too hot in here,” Fenris’ jaw tensed involuntarily as he stared at nothing in particular. “The red lyrium is weakened by the cold, if we are to do this you will have to leave the windows open for at least a full day to let the chill in.”

 

“Huh,” Iron Bull frowned a bit as he stood, “Good to know, I definitely don’t want to fuck with the lyrium. Did you have something else on your mind?”

 

Fenris shot Iron Bull a look, both hating that he could read him easily and depending on it. Not that he was very good at concealing his current mood. 

 

“It’s Hawke,” Fenris released the struggling thought from the confines of his tightened chest.

 

“Did you talk to him?” Iron Bull asked after Fenris failed to finish his thought.

 

Fenris shook his head slowly, “No. But I tried-” He turned away, unable to bear Iron Bull’s steady gaze. “I tried to push myself with him, I thought that if I could just make it through I would be better and we wouldn’t have to go through with this.”

 

The silence that followed was heavy in the room, which was feeling smaller on every shaky exhale. 

 

“Fenris,” Iron Bull’s voice was tense, “You know you don’t  _ have _ to do anything, right?”

 

Fenris did not turn.

 

“If you aren’t ready for this, or for Hawke, that’s okay,” Iron Bull continued. “No one is going to make you do anything, and you don't need to force yourself to do any crap you aren’t ready for.”

 

Fenris turned, dropping his arms as the red lyrium burned in the confines of his thin tunic, taunted by the anxiety and the warm room, “I will not deprive myself of pleasure or of  _ Hawke _ , not for years, not again. I know forcing myself will not work, I have more than proven that to myself. I just…”

 

Fenris struggled, the lyrium sparking under his skin as it watched him with a wicked grin. Taunting, scraping its teeth along the torment within that Fenris didn’t know how to release. It presented him with memories he did not want to recall, of unwanted touch and advance, of abuse and pain he was made to believe he enjoyed. He shook his head, attempting to dislodge the thoughts before moving to wrench a window open. The mountain wind howled against his face, snowflakes catching and melting on his skin as the red lyrium shrunk.

 

“I just need the ghosts to fade, I need to prove to myself that if I like any of this that it is…” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to say the last word. He expected Iron Bull to finish the sentence for him, knowing he would know exactly what Fenris was trying to express, but the qunari did not offer the words to him. “That it is alright, for me to enjoy that, as you said.”

 

Fenris looked over his shoulder at Iron Bull, who was watching him with a soft gaze, “Yeah, you think you can go through with it?”

 

Fenris turned and leaned against the window sill, “Yes, I believe so.”

 

“Because you can always change your mind,” Iron Bull raised an eyebrow, “Even when we start, you can tell me to stop at any time.”

 

Fenris nodded, “I understand.”

 

“And you still need to talk to Hawke,” Iron Bull smirked. “Especially if you’re trying that crap with him, he deserves to know.”

 

Fenris averted his eyes, “I know.”

 

“And you need to know that there is a chance this won’t work,” Iron Bull’s tone was serious, “I can’t promise that experiencing these things will make everything better, or that it will be an easy process. It could go wrong, and I need you to be prepared for that.”

 

Fenris frowned at the snow-flecked carpet under his feet, “I do not know how to talk to Hawke about this.”

 

“Hmm,” Iron Bull crossed his arms as he joined Fenris to lean against the wall. “I get it. It’s touchy.”

 

“How do I tell him without hurting him?” Fenris looked up at Bull, who was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

 

“You might not be able to,” Iron Bull admitted, “But you can tell him the things you told me, if it helps. He might not be happy at first, but he cares about you and I am sure he will understand if you tell him what you’re feeling.”

 

They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Iron Bull shrugged, “So do you want to look at those ropes or nah?”

  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, apologies for the long wait. I've been working a lot on commissions and my professional writing and this has fallen by the wayside, but do not fret, I do intend to finish it even if it takes me a while. Thanks for sticking it out with me!

Hawke returned to Skyhold well after dark. Fenris had almost given up waiting for him, sure that he had decided to camp out overnight after all. He wouldn’t be surprised, Hawke probably needed the space away from him after what he had put him through that morning. Fenris had forced himself to put it from his mind as he sat under one of the awnings in the garden, watching the snow trail slowly from the dark sky until Hawke appeared.

Their eyes met across the dim snow-covered garden. Hawke shifted his pack on his shoulder before stepping through the fresh snow towards Fenris.

Fenris stood to meet him, lump in his throat growing as he stepped forward. He was going to tell Hawke, he was going to talk to him about his arrangements with The Iron Bull. He couldn’t back down this time. Hawke would want to know why he was waiting up for him, sitting in the cold past nightfall, and Fenris was out of excuses.

“Fenris,” Hawke nodded to him, avoiding his gaze as his cheeks flushed pink above his beard. There was no doubt he was thinking of their run-in this morning, the rough, deep kiss Fenris had pinned him in against his bed. “Is everything alright?”

Fenris blinked at the unexpected question. His thoughts stumbled from the practiced lines he had turned over in his head for hours and he found himself struggling for an answer.

“Yes,” Fenris said, almost with the inclination of a question. “Hawke, we need to talk.”

Hawke finally met his eyes, trepidation clear in them as he exhaled slowly and dropped his pack and bow under the protection of the awning.

“I thought so,” Hawke mumbled, looking fugitively around the garden before settling himself on the bench Fenris had been waiting on. He leaned back against the stone wall, arms shifting and hands fidgeting as he failed to find a comfortable position. 

Fenris crossed his arms where he stood, an attempt to tamper the anxious breath that was pushing through him like a bellows. If he weren’t outside, uncloaked and barefoot in the snow, he knew the red lyrium would be thawing happily in the presence of his fear.

Hawke waited for him, wringing his gloved hands together for warmth as his eyes settled somewhere below Fenris’ eyes. The tension was palpable, the quiet and peace of the slowing falling snow and their silence a thin veneer over the wild, dark sea raging inside of them.

“I would like to extend my apologies, again,” Fenris’ voice was stiff as he uncrossed his arms. “I put you into an impossible position without a thought for your own comfort, it was unfair of me and it will not happen again.”

Hawke’s eyebrows knit in a bittersweet expression, “You’re forgiven, of course. I just... I want to make sure you are okay.”

Fenris exhaled slowly, Hawke’s forgiveness offered him little reprieve, “Don’t you want to ask why I acted in that way? Have you no questions?”

Hawke sighed and scratched at his beard, “I don’t want to push you, Fenris. You don’t need to tell me everything, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Fenris stared up at the stonework above them, frustration mounting. “What I did was wrong.”

“I’m not going to hold it against you,” Hawke crossed his arms and met Fenris’ eye with a sharp look. “You went through a lot, a lot has happened. I haven’t dealt with this perfectly either, so…” Hawke trailed off, averting his eyes and tightening his arms with a whine of leather, “Just, don’t push yourself to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Fenris stared at him, a small spark of anger catching in his chest as the words hung in the air. Of course Hawke would say that, of course he would brush off Fenris’ vile actions. He would forgive Fenris for anything, had already done so more times than Fenris could count. Hawke would never hold him accountable, Fenris was nothing but perfect. All of his actions were easy to write off since he had been /hurt/. 

“You would forgive anything, wouldn’t you?” Fenris narrowed his eyes at Hawke, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I am never at fault, even when I tell you that I am. You refuse to hold me accountable.”

“What do you want, Fenris?” Hawke threw his hands up as his anger burst forth from with. “You want me to hold everything against you? To resent you for things you can’t control? I’m not going to punish you for every misstep, Fenris, if that’s what you want-”

Hawke’s face dropped as the red lyrium in Fenris’ brands glowed in the low light, their dark alcove suddenly cast in a red light. It prickled in Fenris’ limbs, needle-like claws prying and begging to have life and rage breathed into it. To catch on the kindling Hawke was heaping on the fire. Fenris closed his eyes, his hands tightening into fists as he took a long breath and settled the flames back to their embers.

Fenris stepped away, the small flame of the red lyrium easing as he stepped into the fresh, virgin snow just outside their small sanctuary. The anger receded, the wisps of the maddening song muted once more until there was no sound but their unsteady breaths.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said, barely above a whisper, at Fenris’ back. 

Fenris huffed what was almost a laugh, “Should I blindly forgive you too?”

“Fenris…” Hawke was standing now, behind Fenris and clearly unsure how to continue this conversation. Fenris wasn’t sure either, it wasn’t how he had expected it to go. “This is about more than just this morning, isn’t it?”

Fenris turned on his heel, steeling himself before he saw Hawke’s face. Broken and vulnerable, already, it tugged on his heartstrings in a way that made this so much harder. 

“I…” Fenris struggled, every line he had rehearsed in his head now long gone. But he had to just tell him. He couldn’t put this off, no matter how hard it was, it needed to happen. “I desperately want us to go back to how we were.”

Fenris averted his eyes quickly, heat rising against his ears as they pinned back. It was too much of an understatement, so much so that he felt foolish just saying it aloud to Hawke. But he didn’t know a better way to cushion the blow he knew he was about to deal to him.

“Of course,” Hawke answered, his voice soft as he trailed off into silence, clearly anticipating that there was something bigger to be unearthed.

“I do not know how to be the man I once was,” Fenris started, looking everywhere but Hawke’s kind and steady gaze. He could feel the distant, cloying breath of the red lyrium at his nape, and had to steady himself against it. “I am at both an advantage as much as a disadvantage, I _remember_ a great deal of how I was, but I have lost the steps to lead me to that. I am removed from myself, lost amid these different identities inside of me.”

Fenris stopped to take a long breath knowing that he was getting too deep into it. Hawke knew most of this already. Fenris had spoken with him on the subject at length multiple times, and yet he felt as if he had to retread each milestone as he approached the next. To Hawke’s credit, he was listening intently, as if he was hearing this for the first time. It gave Fenris enough bravery to continue.

“I want to be close,” Fenris steadied himself, measuring each word before it lifted from his tongue. “I want to be close to _you_. I remember how we were, I remember it so clearly and it haunts me. You always say I should not push myself, but this isn’t something I want to wait for. We have had so many years stolen from us already.”

“Fenris,” Hawke’s face was pained, his hands hovering in the air for a second as if to pull Fenris into an embrace before he thought better of it. “This isn’t something you can force, and it’s not something that I expect-”

“Hawke,” Fenris raised a hand, eyes squeezed closed as he mentally grasped the thread of his thoughts. He couldn’t be distracted, he couldn’t let Hawke drag this out into a long conversation that would guide him away from what he had to say. “I know what you are going to tell me. I have heard you. But there is something I must overcome before I can rekindle what we had, and I have to see to it myself.”

Hawke blinked, face blank, “What is it?”

Fenris’ ears pinned again, his hands closing into anxious fists, “Hawke, you might not like what I have to say. I need to know that you will support me.”

“Of course I support you,” Hawke was frowning slightly, confusion mounting. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

Fenris swallowed hard, “I have made arrangements to... “ Fenris averted his gaze as Hawke stared at him quizzically, “To confront the unsavory desires that I…”

Fenris’ voice died in his throat, his mouth closed with a finality as he breathed down an anxious spike in his body. He dared not look at Hawke, simply focused on his breath and the red lyrium he had to keep bound inside of himself.

“What?” Hawke said flatly. “What do you mean ‘unsavory’? What arrangement?”

Fenris closed his eyes for a beat before turning back to Hawke, meeting his confused and hurt expression. Hawke hadn’t pieced it together from the fragmented pieces that Fenris had flung out at him. And now he had to fix that.

“I cannot be close to you, not yet, there are things I must sort out first,” Fenris tried explaining, keeping his voice steady despite the minute changes in Hawke’s expression as he slowly put the picture together. “My body desires what my mind does _not_. I cannot wait around until it resolves itself. I am going to face those desires and have myself rid of them, if all goes well.”

“Wait,” Hawke’s eyes were wide and Fenris could almost see the intricate workings of his mind shifting within them. “Wait, _what_?”

“I need to do this,” Fenris frowned, setting his jaw, hoping the finality of his words would put any objections to rest. But he knew that it wouldn’t.

“No, wait,” Hawke laughed under his breath, his fingers twitching as he lifted them as if in defense. “What are you _talking_ about? What are you doing?”

“I made arrangements with the Iron Bull-” Fenris started, cut off by a bark of disbelief from Hawke.

“What?” Hawke’s voice rose, his face turning red under his beard. “You- You’re- You can’t be with _me_ , but you are going to…”

“Let me speak,” Fenris snapped, exhaling sharply as the heat in his brands went up by another degree. “This is not about _you_ , I am doing this so that _we_ can be together.”

“Did he talk you into this?” Hawke’s voice dropped suddenly, a dark look shadowing his eyes as he stepped closer to Fenris. “I knew you two were talking, but I didn’t think he would have the balls to try and convince you into doing something like this.”

“He did no such thing,” Fenris glared, offended at the notion. “Do you think I am so foolish as to be taken advantage of in that way?”

Hawke exhaled sharply through his nose as he clapped his mouth shut, his grimace still thick upon his features. “So what is this, Fenris?” He said in a low voice, one that told Fenris he was holding back the rage that was burning inside of him. “You tell me you want to be with me but then tell me you’re going to go and fuck this stranger? That you’re going to reenact shit to try and, what? Get over it? Are you listening to yourself?”

“Hawke,” Fenris snapped again, his chest aching at every word Hawke flung at him. “Do you trust me or _not_?”

Hawke went silent, his hands shaking in fists as his breath shuddered painfully in and out. Fenris held his gaze, as much as he wanted to look away from the deep hurt, the confusion and the betrayal that filled them. He needed Hawke to just listen. 

“This is-” Hawke’s words were cut off as Fenris grabbed him by his cloak and forced him forward until his face was a mere few inches from Fenris’ face. Hawke didn’t resist, didn’t even stiffen, instead just held Fenris’ stare.

“Do you trust me?” Fenris asked again.

Hawke swallowed hard, his face softening after a beat, “Yes, I do.”

Fenris let go of Hawke’s cloak, sending him off-balance for a few awkward steps. 

“Then I need you to listen to me,” Fenris said with all the strength he had stored away for this moment, steeling himself from the pleading and hurt look Hawke gave him in response. “I need you to trust me, trust that I know what is best for myself. Like you did in the past. I promise you, everything I am doing is to ensure that we have a future together.”

Hawke was quiet, shrunken as a wounded wolf circling its opponent. His anger had nowhere to go, his face drawn tight into an expression full of grief and disappointment that Fenris had seen from him too many times. Fenris knew how deeply haunted Hawke was by the events that transpired over the last couple years, how sharply he felt the losses they both endured. But he hated how Hawke flashed his teeth in this way every time Fenris challenged what they had. But he supposed it was fair, given what he had just told him.

“I am not going to sleep with The Iron Bull,” Fenris let the words sink in as Hawke stared at him through his gloom. The tension in Hawke’s body did not subside. “I have no interest in sleeping with anyone else. That’s not what the arrangement is about.”

Fenris wanted Hawke to ask him, to ask what the arrangement was, to seek the conversation instead of retreat deeper into himself. Fenris did not want to do this alone.

“I need you to understand,” Fenris stepped toward Hawke, who did not respond. “I am not taking this lightly, this is not some petty pursuit for my own pleasure, nor his. There is something within me I must face and I cannot be close with anyone until I do.”

Hawke’s chest swelled with a long, measured breath. One that pulled him to his full height and size as he leveled his gaze steadily out across the snow-covered garden. “Why can’t we do this together?”

Fenris’ chest ached and he longed to reach across the empty space between them, to take Hawke’s hand in his own. But the thought of Hawke pulling away was too heavy against him, and he did not.

“I cannot expose my demons to you,” Fenris answered, “And you could not do what I need without hurting yourself.”

Hawke winced as he watched the snow fall, his eyes trailing after each delicate flake as it twirled down from the dark sky, “What-” Hawke stopped to clear his throat anxiously, almost blinking towards Fenris, “What is it you’re going to do? What is it that you cannot face with me?”

Fenris was prepared for Hawke to ask, but he still did not know how he would answer. What answer could he give that wouldn’t fill Hawke with terror at what lived within the shadows of his limbs and desires? What could he say that wouldn’t darken this conversation more than Fenris already had? He had to tell Hawke, he knew, but the shame was so thick inside of him he felt he could barely speak.

“I was thoroughly re-trained,” Fenris’ throat grew tight but the words trailed after each other almost effortlessly. As if they were bound together by a thin string, following each other into the light to revel in their freedom. “I do not recall everything about my recapture yet, but I remember my loyalty being tested. I remember being conditioned as a slave again. Much of it remains. And I cannot be with you when my body is…”

Fenris faltered on the last words as they caught in his throat.

Hawke looked back to him, expression unreadable, “I know. I mean, I don’t know the details, but I know, I saw how you looked at Danarius.”

Fenris held his gaze. Pain surged into Fenris’ chest as if his ribs had cracked inwards towards his heart. The darkness that followed them seemed to lean over them now as a massive specter, its maws opening to swallow them up in the terror and heartache they couldn’t escape.

“Hawke-” Fenris’ voice was a ghost.

“I’m sorry, please don’t-” Hawke cut Fenris off, his eyes closing tightly as his own heartache spilled into his face. “Take that the wrong way. I understand, I know, it wasn’t your choice. I know. I’m so sorry, I…”

Hawke’s eyes opened to blink furiously at the stonework above them, stepping closer to Fenris protectively, as if his presence might chase away the ghosts that plagued him. Fenris longed for his arms to be around him, to hold him and make him forget all of this. 

“Maker, when can we finally be rid of him?” Hawke tried to smile as if it were a joke. “I’m so glad you killed him.” Hawke cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I’m sorry. Please, go on, tell me what you need.”

Hawke reached out, his hands vulnerable despite the thick gloves he was wearing. Fenris took them eagerly, allowing Hawke’s hand to squeeze the fear and loneliness out of his. The terror of moments before had slinked down to a prowling hound, watching where it laid on the ground. No longer the all-consuming creature it had been.

“I need you to understand,” Fenris said, his thumbs tracing the creases on Hawke’s gloves. “I need to do this for myself. For us.” 

“Can I ask what you are going to do with Bull?” Hawke’s voice was tender.

“Do you want the details?” Fenris looked up with a smirk, hoping to lighten the mood, and was delighted when Hawke matched his smile sheepishly.

“Uh,” Hawke laughed nervously, “Maybe not. But you’re not sleeping together?”

“No,” Fenris shook his head, “Nothing of the sort.”

“I have heard rumors,” Hawke’s brows rose, “So, I have an idea, and I don’t need to know more than that, I guess. I trust you.”

Fenris searched Hawke’s face, “If you asked, I would call it off.”

Hawke was quiet for a moment, staring down at Fenris’ red-lined fingers laced with his, “I know. But I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Would I have done this in Kirkwall?” Fenris asked, unsure of where the thought came from.

“Oh,” Hawke rose his eyebrows again and smirked up at Fenris, “You did sleep with Isabella before we got together, do you remember?”

Fenris laughed, the memory lighting up in color in the recesses of his mind, “Ah, yes.”

“It’s fine,” Hawke let go of Fenris’ hands, moved up to smooth a crease across Fenris’ chest. “It doesn’t matter, I love you no matter what you choose to do.”

Fenris felt small suddenly, when he knew he should have felt warmed and strengthened by Hawke’s devotion. He could not return it, not fully and not yet. His dim light shadowed by the blinding glow Hawke’s heart could so easily burn for him.

“I’ll always choose you,” Fenris looked up into Hawke’s eyes, wishing he had the strength to pull him into a kiss. “I’m yours.”

Hawke smiled, although it did not fully reach his eyes. “As am I. But uh, I think I might take a few days away from Skyhold, give you some space so you can-” Hawke waved a non-committal hand in the air between them, “You know. We can talk about it when I get back, if you want to.”

Fenris let out a breath, “I suppose.”

“Well,” Hawke said, taking up his pack and bow in his hands and turning back to Fenris. “Good talk.”

Fenris didn’t want Hawke to leave.

“Yes, thank you for your understanding,” Fenris answered stiffly. 

Hawke paused, pack swinging in the air where he held it before he squinted over at him, “Fenris?”

“Yes?” Fenris answered.

“May I?” Hawke took a step forward, his bag and bow hovering just above the ground. 

Fenris swallowed hard as he felt the muscles in his face finally relax, “Please.”

Hawke closed the distance between them in an instant, pulling Fenris close in a full embrace. Fenris was swallowed by his strong arms, by the layers of fur and thick cloak Hawke needed out in the snow. It was hot, Fenris could feel the huffs of hot breath from Hawke against his neck and ear. Hawke’s hand slid against the back of his head, cradling it as his gloved hands parted through Fenris’ silver hair. 

Fenris closed his eyes, clearing his mind from anything that existed outside of them. Committing the moment to memory as he wrapped his arms tight around Hawke, ignoring the sweltering heat of their embrace against the red lyrium tainting his brands. He wanted this more than anything.

Hawke pressed a kiss against Fenris’ hair before pulling away. Fenris’ head was swimming, and he had to resist the urge to follow his body, to press for more. This was enough, for now.

“Good night,” Hawke smiled before gathering his things and disappearing, leaving Fenris alone with his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been 84years but Im BACK! Don't worry, I have no intentions on abandoning this piece. I've been busy with my personal writing projects but I wanna make a point to try and update more regularly.
> 
> Heads up for this chapter - There are many suggestions of past abuse/rape, lots of troubled thinking during a scene, etc. Nothing more than we have seen, but worth mentioning again.

Hawke left in the midmorning the following day, his packs filled with enough supplies for a week in the snowy peaks. It felt abrupt to Fenris, Hawke leaving mere hours after they had their conversation about Fenris’ arrangement with the Iron Bull. He knew Hawke probably needed the time for himself, to process and think over everything Fenris had said to him in the privacy and solitude of the peaks.

But something about it left Fenris feeling anxious and uneasy. So much so he had trouble meeting Hawke’s eyes as they said their farewells. Part of Fenris wished he was going into the peaks with him instead. So they could be alone and Fenris could spill everything dark and tainted within him until they were both recovered and happily paired as they once were.

That wasn’t how it would work out though, Fenris knew that. He had arranged things as he did for a reason, and Hawke was giving both of them the space to work through this.

Fenris wasted no time finding the Iron Bull after Hawke left. He was sure he would freeze up or change his mind if he didn’t act quickly, reacting and responding with the determined and blank focus he had been trained with in combat. Absorb the pain, keep moving, don’t think, just act.

Now he stood in the Iron Bull’s room, almost unsure of how he had gotten there. The room felt strange and unfamiliar, even though Fenris had been here before. The windows had all been open, as per his request, the winter wind blowing in flurries and rattling the steel-framed glass. The only light besides the fading twilight was a couple of lanterns burning lowly around the room, the hearth dark and barren. The Iron Bull had clearly rearranged the furniture, pulling chairs and benches from the middle of the room to reveal an open space on the large carpet there.

“Crap, it's freezing in here,” Iron Bull shuddered as he moved past Fenris, goosebumps clear across his exposed arms and chest. He found a cloak and wrapped it awkwardly over his wide shoulders before turning back to Fenris, “Is this good? You said you need it cold for the lyrium so I left the windows open since lunch.”

“Yes, this is sufficient,” Fenris said stiffly, his ears pinning. He did not know what he was supposed to do in this moment, at the start of this ‘scene. They had discussed Bull’s plans ad nauseam, but now that Fenris was here he wasn’t sure what was expected of him. He knew what would happen back when he was enslaved, but that thought was unhelpful. 

The reality of the situation settled in and Fenris’ stomach twisted with nerves.

“Are you nervous?” Iron Bull never missed a thing. Something about that was both comforting and frightening. 

“I am,” Fenris admitted with a sigh, crossing his arms. He couldn’t hold Iron Bull’s gaze and instead let his eyes trail about the room. “But I assume that is a natural feeling. How do you usually begin these ‘scenes’?”

Iron Bull shrugged and settled down on the long wooden bench that was pushed to the edge of the rug, “Depends, but for a first scene I think it’s important to go over everything again. Make sure everyone knows what to expect and what’s expected, check in a bit.”

Fenris refrained from rolling his eyes. The Iron Bull seemed too careful about this, talking too much about rules and boundaries and wanting to pry open every closed door to ‘check in’. It seemed foolish, childish, and Fenris knew from his scattered memories that he and Hawke had rarely ever spoken like this before getting intimate. 

“As you wish,” Fenris responded, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice as he remained standing.

“It works better if you _relax_ ,” Iron Bull smirked, but not unkindly. “Why don’t you try and get comfortable? There’s no rush.”

Fenris disagreed, he had every reason to rush. Getting ‘comfortable’ wasn’t exactly what Fenris had anticipated when they negotiated what they were going to do in their first scene, it sounded romantic at best and at worst…

Fenris shook the uneasy thoughts from his mind and settled on the carpet across from Bull, unable to adopt the same ease the qunari had as he leaned back on his hands.

“You remember your watchword?” Iron Bull asked, cutting back to business. Fenris was thankful for that at least.

“ _Valo-kas_ ,” Fenris recited. His wandering eyes settled on the bed at the far end of the room. Unease curled in his stomach. It loomed over him, it seemed, a spectre of his past and his fears watching him like the eyes of the red lyrium inside of his mind. 

They had agreed no sex. Of course. But Fenris couldn’t help but wonder what the Iron Bull was going to get out of this arrangement. He was afraid of the red lyrium, but he was more than double the size of Fenris. If he wanted to force him, well, he could _try_.

“Fenris?”

Fenris turned away from his thoughts to the qunari, “Yes?”

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Iron Bull’s single eye narrowed, reading him. “I don’t expect you to be completely comfortable or relaxed just yet in our arrangement but I need to know that you trust me before we do _anything_.”

Fenris swallowed hard and lied, “I do.”

Iron Bull exhaled softly, a minute drop of his shoulders told Fenris that he knew the truth. Fenris held his breath for a moment, expecting to be sent away after all the embarrassment and all he had confessed to get here.

“Well,” Iron Bull sighed into an easy smile after a beat, as if Fenris had given him the answer he had wanted. “As we went over already, I’ll take control and I will tie you up. I will start with a light harness, adjust depending on how you handle it.”

Fenris listened with perked ears, even though he had heard this plan countless times today. Coming to terms with the idea of Bull tying him up was a constant tide he had to hold himself against, both repulsed and excited by the thought. His nerves fluttered about inside of him until his head fogged, covered by a familiar softness he remembered from before...

“Understood,” Fenris said, barely above a whisper, when he realized Iron Bull was waiting for a response.

There was a beat where neither of them spoke, the heat rose through Fenris’ body and spiked at the tips of his ears. People enjoyed this sort of activity, he reminded himself, it was alright. He just needed to let this happen so he could see what it was he wanted. 

He needed to know himself. Ever since Danarius had stolen him back, everyone else seemed to know him better than he knew himself. But this was something only he could discover. Whether his body’s proclivities had existed before the slave training, or if this was simply another flawed response beaten into him,

Fenris’ fists tightened, “You do not need to treat me as if I’m delicate, Iron Bull. It is not as if I have never experienced anything akin to this before.”

“Fair enough,” Iron Bull answered. “How about you let me worry about that crap, hmm? I will set the tone and I will increase the intensity as I see fit for you, do you want to give me that control?”

Fenris’ expression dropped, something in his chest easing at the idea, “And if I want it to stop?”

“Watchword,” Iron Bull bowed his head, his one eye watching Fenris closely as his tone shifted. “The moment you want it to stop or change, you use your watchword.”

It wasn’t a suggestion anymore. Fenris’ breath shuddered from him as his eyes dropped from Bull’s, a familiar warmth spilling into his body as his nerves heightened. As if he could feel every inch of his skin more intimately than normal. How was the qunari pulling his response from him this _easily_?

“Understand, Fenris?” Bull’s tone had completely changed, almost unrecognizable as it filled with an unquestioning authority that Fenris might have bucked against in any other situation. 

“Yes-” Fenris snapped his jaw shut before he could finish the reflex on his tongue. Something inside of him cringed, but it was under layers of thick submission already. It came too easily.

“Good,” Bull’s tone softened by a degree measurable within Fenris’ twitching ears, after a lifetime of slavery he knew how to gauge the voices of his ‘betters’. “If you’re ready, I want you to undress, as much or as little as you want.”

Fenris blinked at the rug beneath him, squinting at Bull’s choice of words. It was a command but asked in the form of a request and with a caveat of control handed to him. Strange, it twisted into an unrecognizable shape in Fenris’ mind, equal parts relief and frustration and confusion. Why wouldn’t Bull just tell him what he _actually_ wanted? 

Regardless, Fenris lifted his fingers to the clasps of his tunic and made quick work of them. He shrugged it off his shoulders without looking to Bull for approval, comfortable enough with the task, and folded it lightly before tossing it out of the way. He sat up slowly, crouching on his heels as his hands hovered at the laces of his leggings.

“Only if you want to,” Iron Bull said quietly, but not without a touch of authority. 

Fenris frowned at himself, at the hesitation and fear that bubbled under his skin. It didn’t matter, he had been naked in front of more men than he could count, and more than that, he wasn’t intending to completely disrobe anyways. He had made a point to actually wear small clothes for this and had no intention of removing them. But still he paused, caught between wanting to commit to the scenario and wanting to pull out already.

He undid the laces with a determined rush, reminding himself that he didn’t _really_ care if he was a bit more exposed to the qunari sitting across from him. He peeled the leggings off and tossed them aside, settling back onto his knees automatically with a small huff.

Iron Bull was quiet for a moment as Fenris stared down at his hands clasping his bare, bent knees. The silence was cloying against Fenris’ exposed skin, the cool air almost lapping against his heated markings as winter wind trailed in from the open windows. Fenris’ ears warmed as he imagined the qunari taking in the sight of him, almost naked and knelt on his knees with his head bowed. Shame curled in his stomach at the thought, how quickly and easily he fell back on his slave training. But then, wasn’t that the point of this exercise? To work it out of him? To provide him with a clear answer about what he _actually_ wanted?

“Fenris,” Iron Bull’s voice was low, cool and pulled on every nerve in Fenris’ body like a tight leash. “Look at me.”

Fenris trembled, the fear surprising him as he wrenched his eyes from the floor and up to Iron Bull’s even gaze. There was nothing to read in the qunari’s eye, no desire or disapproval, blank except for the deliberateness of his stare.

“Do you remember our rule?” Iron Bull’s voice was low.

Fenris swallowed hard, mind already rifling through his memories, his old training desperately before he centered his thoughts, “I will use my watchword, if I want you to stop.”

“Good,” Iron Bull answered and Fenris’ shoulders dropped before he even realized the tension they carried. “You may speak if you want, but otherwise you will follow my commands. You will not intentionally attack or harm me, understood Fenris?”

‘Intentionally’? What exactly did Iron Bull think might happen?

“Understood,” Fenris nodded, his gaze slipping back to the comfort of the carpet. 

Fenris waited, expectation and trepidation dancing between his ears as he studied the worn threads of the rug beneath him. Iron Bull shifted, walking across the room to one of his armoires. Fenris could not lift his eyes from the floor to watch, too well trained. _Kneeling at the foot of his Master’s bed, silver in his eyes, ears twitching as he selfishly attempted to guess what instrument his Master would return with._

The Iron Bull strode across the floor towards Fenris. Unrushed, steady. Fenris remembered to breathe. The qunari did this with others. Others spoke highly of him. Fenris said he trusted him. He lifted his chin, setting his jaw, halving the difference between blind obedience and open defiance. 

The ropes fell to the fell with a soft sound, coiled lightly. Another line dropped from Iron Bull’s hands before he knelt at Fenris’ side, eyes preoccupied with the long skein. _Red ropes laid in a heap on the floor, an impatient sound as another slave flinches and scrambles to untangle it._ The qunari ran the rope deftly through his large and calloused hands, halving the coil and smoothing out the kinks and tangles. 

The rope was tough, its fibers the same that held dreadnoughts in place. They had chosen it for its durability so it would stand a chance against the possible heat of the lyrium. Fenris had turned down the ropes the Iron Bull owned that had been made for this purpose, the traditional red cord of Qunari uniform and the royal blue rope that was soft to the touch. This rope was for utility, not for pleasure, not for display.

_You should see him in ropes. That power contained and physically cowed._

“Sit up, Fenris,” Iron Bull’s voice, the softness in that edge. Fenris sat up. “Arms at your sides, that’s it.”

Bull’s thick arms enclosed around Fenris’ vulnerable form for only a moment, like a puppet master. The rope caught and looped around Fenris’ torso, the rough scratch running against his ribs as Bull corrects it. Fenris takes a deep, steadying breath, exhaled and allowed his ribs to expand as a measure. The Iron Bull took his cue, practiced, and tightened the length accordingly. _You should see him struggle against them, divine._ Fenris exhaled again, the rope locked as its end is guided in another direction.

Fenris’ head was thick, heavy with a warmth he remembers all too well. No space to question. He gives into it. The rope is pulled over his shoulder, towards his bared chest. The lyrium pricks, the color lighting like trapped embers in a long since burnt log. The hand holding the rope hesitates, the lyrium warms along with Fenris’ body. _He takes to bondage so easily._

Finally, the rope pulls again, tension mounting in the loop around Fenris’ ribs, limiting him as he exhaled. _Pulled too tightly, again. Fenris wills his Master to ask if he is in pain, as he sometimes does, but today his Master does not see outside of his own pleasure and Fenris accepts his fate._ Fingers nudge at the loop, plucking it as if Fenris were an instrument. The rope is guided under it, caught between tension and skin. It runs against Fenris like a snake, burning ever so slightly as Fenris gasps. _Magic enters his Master’s fingertips and sparks pain between the tight bounds, Fenris’ flesh sectioned off and sensitive under his ministrations. Another figure looms, another, and another, until he is surrounded…_

The rope pulls tight on his shoulder. It grips around him like a vice, a touch that Fenris cannot move away from. _They keep touching_. The rope moves to mirror the design on his other shoulder. His arms are free he could- _He cannot escape, they will explore and use his body until they are satisfied. How many of them? They keep touching. They won’t stop. Why won’t they stop._

“ _Valo-kas._ ”

A wave of pins and needles ran through Fenris as he heard the words fall from his lips. His stomach dropped as if he was falling. Bull said the words meant it would be over, that he would stop, but Fenris’ first response to himself tapping out is an intense dread. He shouldn’t have said it. He should have accepted the pain, the memories, he was _better_ than that. Punishment would follow.

But the ropes fall away from him. Loose and tangled around his torso, running across his skin as hands unravel him from their web. The pressure released and Fenris almost felt sick at its sudden removal. He was shaking. He wanted to leap to his feet and run until he found his own room. Lock the door behind him. But he didn’t move.

“Here,” Iron Bull’s voice was soft, punctuated with gentle sounds. He wrapped a blanket around Fenris’ shoulders, thin and silky, but protective. “It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re okay, Fenris.”

The red lyrium smirked, flashing teeth as it crawled from its slumber. Hissing in Fenris’ ears as he closes his eyes tight, focused on breathing. He felt small, vulnerable, as if he was fully exposed to the qunari settling on the ground next to him. The red lyrium heated, lighting and shifting thickly through his markings but he contained it. It's a simple distraction. 

“Apologies,” Fenris’ mouth was dry. His vision blurry as he blinked down at the ground. He realized too late that his head was bowed in submission, but he couldn’t find the energy to correct himself.

The Iron Bull sighed quietly, a quiet sound that Fenris only just caught on a twitched ear. “You don’t need to apologize, I just want to know what you are feeling.”

Fenris didn’t look up, “I feel foolish. We needn’t go into it. Let’s restart.”

“No, Fenris, not until you calm down and can talk to me about it,” The Iron Bull was unshakeable in his tone, although all the authority and power it held before was long gone. “You need to take your time with this. You can do a lot of damage if you don’t take care of yourself. I can’t help you unless you let me.”

“Stop,” Fenris frowned at the carpet beneath him, fists twisted in the thin blanket enclosing him. “You do not need to patronize me. I will not learn _anything_ if we do not do it again, now.”

“Then tell me,” Iron Bull countered, “Why did you use your watchword? The more you can tell me as to _why_ , the better I can take care of you during the scene. I can change things and adjust so you will be safer and more comfortable.”

“What would be the point then?” Fenris finally looked up, locking eyes with the qunari. “No one was ever interested in my safety or comfort with… with _this_. If I am going to break myself of this- this- _curse_ they laid upon me I need you to do as they did-”

“No,” Iron Bull’s voice growled, commanding again, stunning Fenris into silence. “I am not here to abuse and rape you, Fenris. I am here to tie you up, respect the boundaries you set in place and help you work through the emotional crap that comes up. If that isn’t what you want, we need to end this, now.”

Fenris flinched. Iron Bull’s shoulders dropped in response, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily before he leaned back again.

“I’m not here to _hurt_ you, Fenris,” Iron Bull continued, regret flashing in his single eye as he averted his gaze. “It's okay for people to like this sort of play. And it's okay if you don’t. I know it's hard to sort this crap out in your position, that’s why I agreed to help. But if you don’t trust me and if you think you’re _weak_ for using your watchword, this won’t work.”

Fenris didn’t have to wonder why Bull knew those things. The qunari had been Ben Hassrath, he probably knew exactly what Fenris had been thinking at every point along the way. Fenris felt foolish all over again, he knew better, he should have known. He didn’t know why he kept denying their actual purpose here.

Fenris _wanted_ this. Even now he could feel the tell-tale ache between his legs, the ghost of arousal from the ropes across his body now dissolved into a messy discomfort. It disgusted him, of course, but it was as Iron Bull suggested. He wouldn’t know unless he worked through it.

“Think of it like this,” Iron Bull broke the silence, gazing intently at the ceiling. “When you are injured in combat it can take a long time to fully recover, right? And once your body heals you still need to teach it how to move, need to work the muscles back to what they need to be. And it always hurts, it's always hard, but in the end, you are able to go back to fighting.”

Fenris blinked at him, “I suppose.”

“You push too hard,” Bull met his eyes again, “You break something.”

Fenris nodded. It made sense.

“I must admit,” Fenris let the blanket slip from his shoulders, falling into a halo around his waist. “I was not altogether convinced that the watchword would work.”

Bull chuckled, “Then I am glad you used it so soon. Did I earn a bit of trust?”

Fenris couldn’t help but smile a bit, “A small amount, yes.”

A comfortable silence fell over them. The nerves Fenris had felt earlier had eased, the voices and ghosts silenced for now. It would simply take time, and luckily he had an entire week. But even so, he was eager to try again.

“Can we try again now?” Fenris asked.

Bull shrugged a shoulder and sat up, “Yeah, I think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not using my tumblr anymore but I am on pillowfort as 'rifa' if you wanna follow me there :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Long time no see! I'm sorry for my absence, the new year slammed in with some major personal and health stuff. But I do not intend to abandon any of my dragon age work, never fret about that. I'm really happy to bring you guys another chapter to this fic!
> 
> Warning for this chapter: we have more flashbacks, more internal struggle about sexuality in the face of past abuse and a bdsm scene getting a little messy on the edges. Its not more intense than anything shown previously but do take care when reading as there is a lot of back and forth here in Fenris' head.

Fenris knelt on the ground before the Iron Bull, eyes closed, breath long and steady. He focused on the cold air, the gentle whistling of the winter wind outside the open windows, the low rhythm of the qunari’s breath. The long length of rope hung from Bull’s hands, Fenris could picture them in his mind's eye, the way they swayed as gravity and the brisk winds toyed with it. He just needed a moment to center himself, to remember who he was, and ready himself for what was coming.

He could do it this time. The plans had been adjusted, they understood each other better, and Fenris would be alright. No matter what his damaged mind presented to him, he could get through it.

Fenris opened his eyes, flicked his gaze up to where Iron Bull stood above him.

“Ready?” Bull’s voice was low, careful.

Fenris nodded curtly, averting his gaze respectfully. Not out of submission, no, out of his own comfort. He didn't need to analyze every action he took, not now. 

“Remember the rule?” Iron Bull asked as he rounded Fenris, knelt behind his shoulder.

“If I want you to stop I will use my watchword,” Fenris recited easily, despite his dry mouth, actually believing it this time.

“Good,” Iron Bull praised behind Fenris, his ear twitching backwards to savour the sound of approval. “Give me your wrists.”

They had discussed this after the last scene had failed. While Fenris had originally wished to keep his hands and feet free of bondage, in practice it felt strange and unnatural to him. But knowing that the watchword _worked_ and that he could easily phase through the ropes, he consented to have his wrists bound. 

Fenris exhaled and tucked his arms behind him. His shoulders pulled back into a strict posture at the simple adjustment. _Submission and devotion were always offered, palms up towards his Master. Manipulated and claimed as Fenris faced him._ Iron Bull’s hands gently fell onto Fenris’ thin wrists. Gooseflesh rose along Fenris’ arms at the vulnerable touch. Lyrium heat prickled under the brands and Fenris took a measured, long breath to settle it.

If Iron Bull had felt the flush of the lyrium he did not let it show. He guided Fenris’ arms back by his wrists, softly, bending him into the desired position. Bent at the elbows, forearms crossing each other just under Fenris’ exposed shoulder blades. Chest forward, shoulders back, Fenris felt the first rough touch of the rope.

Bull pulled it between Fenris’ back and clasped forearms, looping them around his wrists. Fenris exhaled, relaxed against it, eyes drooping. _He had been tied like this for display. Arms bound tightly behind him, his body curved towards his Master’s colleagues. Their eyes taking him in hungrily before turning away to their drinks, their food, their conversation._ Bull knotted the rope, tugging gently, bringing Fenris’ attention sharply back to himself.

“Alright?” Bull asked softly, barely a whisper behind Fenris’ ear.

Fenris took stock. Bull said he would check in more often this time. He said he would give reassuring touches to ground him in the present if he thought Fenris was wavering. Fenris had agreed to the changes. 

He nodded once, stiffly, before tensing against the knot holding his wrists. _Held_. It was tight against his skin without hurting, bonding his arms and hands into the position the Iron Bull had chosen. As he shifted his hands he felt the tension from above him, the rope held up as if he were a marionette. _Presented, a symbol of his Master’s ownership held aloft so all could see how he bent and softened under it. Like a flower to the sun._

“Fenris,” Iron Bull’s voice cut through.

“Yes, fine,” Fenris breathed. He blinked rapidly, focusing on the dim room around him. The frigid breeze completely unlike the humid, hot rooms in Minrathous. “Continue.”

Satisfied, Bull continued to bind Fenris. A massive hand at his shoulder stirred the lyrium, like dust swirling after a touch, and the rope followed. Fenris lifted his chin as the rope crossed his chest, breathing low. Around the other shoulder now, constricting him into the tight posture. The rope was unforgiving, unrelenting and solid. It was grounding as much as it was intoxicating. 

Fenris’ eyelids fluttered as he relaxed against it, knowing the rope and the qunari would hold him upright. Pure submission rolled through his limbs, flooding from something base within his mind. _The Maker made elves this way_.

No. It wasn’t unlike any other man seduced by the idea of letting another take charge. There were others and not all were elves. Fenris was here not because he was designed for this purpose, but because he _choose_ to be here. 

To know himself.

Knuckles against his back stole his breath. Touch. Intimacy. The knot tightened again. A groan escaped Fenris’ lips as heat gathered in his groin. _He wanted to be useful, he wanted to be needed, he would accept anything his Master gave him_. He parted his thighs, heat building, he stopped caring if the Iron Bull could see his body respond. 

The rope laid against his bicep, about an inch under the other rope, their combined tension sending gooseflesh across Fenris’ skin. Iron Bull guided the rope across his chest, adjusting until the rope was flush under Fenris’ pectoral muscles. The lyrium sparked, like a beast stirring in its den, and Fenris breathed out long and low. Bull responded, loosening the rope so Fenris’ ribs could expand.

“Tighter,” Fenris whispered. His ears pinned back immediately, a cold rushed through him, who was he to make _demands_?

“You sure?” Iron Bull’s voice. Yes, it was his grey arms on either side of Fenris, his scarred hands working the tension in the length of rope.

Fenris blinked, turning his head towards Bull just to remind himself that he could, “Not _too_ tight.”

Fenris could see Iron Bull’s horned shadow nod his understanding before he pulled the ropes just a touch tighter. They pressed against ribcage, restricted Fenris’ breath just enough. Enough for what? He wasn’t sure, but the tightness of it was reassuring. It reminded him of his connection with his body, with the tensing and relaxing muscles, every organ and line of lyrium moving in tandem with each other. It was almost meditative, reminding Fenris of the exercises his trainers had instilled in him so early, keeping his mind in touch with his body to make him a perfect weapon.

Around his opposite shoulder and to his spine, adding to the knot set there. _They secured it and checked it multiple times before attaching it to the link bolted to the ceiling. Fenris knew that they would be severely punished if they let any lasting harm befall him, he found comfort in the thought._ Iron Bull’s fingers tested and tugged, slipping under the tense binds to right them against Fenris’ warming skin. Fenris felt the rest of the rope fall against the bottom of his foot, loose and discarded.

Iron Bull shifted with a soft grunt, his fingertips running along the ropes- _Master’s fingertips trailed over the brands, every swirl accentuated with a flourish of his wrist. His nails pressing, magic lighting them painfully as Fenris jerks involuntarily against the ropes._ \- before he settled to Fenris’ right. His eye was soft but did not trail against Fenris’ exposed and bound body. His hands were empty.

Fenris tensed and Iron Bull made a soft, soothing sound, “Easy, just let yourself be.”

Lyrium licked up the back of Fenris’ bare neck, pins and needles down his spine. A bubble of something similar to panic rose in his chest, settling between the two lines of rope across him. He breathed slow, he closed his eyes, he centered himself.

“Is this it?” Fenris tried not to sound disappointed.

“No more ropes,” Iron Bull said, with the gentle strictness of someone cutting off his drunk friend of another ale. “But not over yet.”

Fenris blinked at the floor as his ears pinned back. _Not over yet_. He couldn’t remember the plan suddenly, his mind a fog with the warm submission the ropes offered him. Fine. He exhaled, felt the ropes hold him upright, strict. He flexed and the bonds cut into muscle. He let go.

 _His Master had him bound for display. Too many eyes and too many hands._ Fenris inhaled. _They trailed along his chest, his thighs, pinching at his nipples and cupping his balls. Inspecting. Impartial as men looking over a horse at auction. Intimate suddenly, a stray hand from one of the faceless men trailing from his bound hands down, down, down..._ Fenris exhaled, too quick. His throat was dry. His cock was fully erect, pulling against his smallclothes.

The thoughts curled and died inside of him like poison, curdled milk. Fenris gagged, expecting his decorative display collar to push against his adam’s apple, blinking his eyes open when it didn’t. He wore no collar. Iron Bull’s hand on his shoulder suddenly, warm, too _warm_ , squeezing with a familiarity of something akin to sparring partners.

“Fenris,” He said as if it were a command. Fenris’ ears perked. Staked now, to the spot, to the present. He turned to the Iron Bull and met his eye. “Stay here with me.”

Fenris exhaled.

“Where are you right now?” Iron Bull asked, tone dropping somewhere between demand and gentle question. Not an interrogation, but the qunari expected an answer.

_Minrathous, in the entertaining parlour. Incense and smoke thick in the air, humid as sweat dewed across Fenris’ skin. Folded and bound as elvhen origami upon the low wood table._

“Your quarters, in the upper wing of Skyhold’s main keep, in the Frostbacks,” Fenris pulled each word as if they were strung together from deep in his throat. 

Iron Bull’s eyebrow rose, “Where do you want to be?”

A jolt through Fenris’ spine, he had tried to twitch against the ropes. The lyrium purred in his brands, stretching out like a cat, its eyes set on easy prey. 

“What?”

“You don’t need to tell me, just think about it,” Iron Bull shrugged a shoulder. 

Fenris thought of the dim, hot parlour rooms. The private guest quarters. His Master’s large four-poster bed. His cock beaded and he cursed out loud, biting his lip to cut off the stream of frustrated Tevene that threatened to spill.

“Don’t,” Iron Bull said, and for one terrifying second Fenris expected his hand to attempt to soothe the biting tension of his jaw. “You’re safe, you can say what you want.”

“No,” Fenris groaned, his hands were sweating behind his back. The red was just under the surface, hissing steam, a familiar wavering tune just beyond him. He was just thankful its voice had not returned just yet. His mind reeled as he tensed against the ropes, fighting to think of a way to press the red back.

The Iron Bull cleared his throat uncomfortably, confirming that the red lyrium was lit, “Uhh-”

“I know,” Fenris hissed through gritted teeth. The red spiked in his bound arms, piercing through as if nails were being driven through him. The heat pressed in his face. “I am working on it.”

“What do you need?” There was a waver in Iron Bull’s voice, his shoulders squaring up.

Fenris pressed his eyes closed. He thought of being untied, having his arms back, his chest unbound. But he didn’t want to stop, not yet. In fact, the ropes steadied him against the tide.

The red licked up his neck, heat flushing in his ears. _You want this, you want more than you want Hawke._ Fenris groaned, clenching his teeth. _You miss Tevinter, you miss slavery, you know it’s what you deserve._

A flame of heat licked up inside his stomach, a flush upon his skin and an idea settled comfortably in his mind. 

“Bull,” Fenris’ voice was dry, his teeth clamped together. “Make me kneel.”

The red lyrium paused, loosening its grip. Bull did not say anything. The heat in Fenris’ limbs settled to a soft hum, lulling as it considered what might happen next. Bull watched, his unease fading with the red haze, before standing and towering over Fenris.

“Kneel, Fenris,” Iron Bull ordered, his arms crossed against his wide chest.

Fenris obeyed immediately, bending over himself until his forehead was flush against the subtle scratch of the carpet. The ropes cut in deeper against his chest, his arms quivered in their bondage against his back, pulled further. It _hurt_. And yet, the red lyrium slipped away from him, seemingly pleased with his position. 

Subjugated properly now against the floor, presenting not only submission but unquestioning devotion to the quinari standing before him, Fenris’ breath quickened. His cock ached under him, gooseflesh spreading across his flank, his thighs. All his weight was forward on his shoulders, pressed to where his head met the floor.

_Fenris used to spend collective hours in this position. Patiently waiting to be required by his Master as he finished his work at his desk, as he finished the last few bites of a meal, as he read tomes in his bed. The position of a favoured slave, a good body slave, not the honourable position of standing at his Master’s back as his bodyguard._

Fenris trembled. His chest ached as if a bubble of some repressed emotion threatened to pop against it and flood him. His throat tightened and his eyes burned. He shifted on his knees, parting them to present better without thought. This was where the lyrium thought he wanted to be, how he believed he deserved to be treated. 

But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t what he wanted. 

Bull crouched before him, Fenris only being able to sense his presence from where he had squeezed his eyes closed against the floor. It was _Iron Bull_ above him. It was fine. 

Fenris flinched at a touch on his exposed back, the sudden intimacy shocking him into a startled moan. His cock twitched, needy, and Fenris couldn’t hold back from the implications his mind supplied him. The displeasure and humiliation had twisted up into a familiar shape in his mind, one that promised sexual release.

“Fenris?” Iron Bull pulled his hand away and Fenris gritted his teeth in frustration at the loss. 

“T-Touch me,” Fenris hissed urgently, his hair had somehow fallen into his pressed face and clouded him more. As if Iron Bull couldn’t see him, couldn’t see how his features flushed or his cock hardened under the touch. 

“Fenris,” Iron Bull sounded displeased, no, not displeased, he was concerned. “You said you didn't want to be touched, we agreed only grounding touches.”

Fenris whined a strangled sound. His arousal was rising, pressing in on all sides of him, threatening to crush him. _Bound and on his knees in his Master’s bed, fingers parting his lips and leading him like a fish on a hook. His other hand caressing Fenris as if he were a treasured lap dog, through his white hair, along his spine to where it led between his cheeks…._

“Touch me, please, please, touch me-” Fenris sputtered suddenly, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He forgot where he was, who he was, and it didn’t matter, he just needed to be _useful_. “ _Please, please, grant me mercy…_ ”

The Tevene slipped between his lips easily, old mantras, old pleas for release that were more for his master than they were for him. He wriggled his hips, he gasped against the tight ropes, imagining the lines bruised into his torso as a punishment for thrashing. 

“Fenris,” Bull’s voice was low, warning. Fenris stopped moving, swallowing air on counted beats. “Think about what you want.”

What did he want? Fenris pressed himself harder against the carpet. _What did he want?_ He wanted release, he wanted to be free, he wanted the line that pulled him tight to be cut so he could breathe again. He wanted _something_ to hold the tide inside of him now that Danarius was gone. He wanted someone to look to, to know he was safe, to know he was loved.

Fenris groaned against the floor, “ _Hawke..._ ”

“Yeah,” Iron Bull’s voice softened. “You got away from me for a second there.”

Fenris’ mind had wandered but now it seemed impossible to recall the path it took. He wasn’t even sure where it was now, lost in the woods for all he knew. Somewhere deep inside he had not traversed while awake or sober in some time. He thought of Hawke’s strong arms, his soft eyes. He thought of Danarius’ sharp glare, his hard cock.

Fenris slumped, all tension leaving him as he melted against the tight bondage. He distantly wondered if he could fall asleep like this, escape the thoughts and the arousal without losing the grounding presence of the ropes.

“You want to stay down there?” Iron Bull asked gently.

Fenris considered, “I’m _very_ hard.”

“Ah,” Fenris could hear the smirk on Iron Bull’s lips, “Do you want your hands back?”

“No,” Fenris answered automatically. “But... “

“You want me to move you?” Bull asked and Fenris suddenly remembered that had been part of the plan, that he would eventually manipulate Fenris’ position so he wouldn’t get sore, so that he could experience a bit more indirect domination.

Fenris nodded, his eyes squeezed tight again.

Fenris’ pinned ears tracked Bull’s steps around him until the qunari was standing at his back. Fenris heated at the thought of his ass lifted and presented as it was, how Bull very well might be taking in the sight of it. His thoughts cut off when Bull’s large hands grabbed onto his shouldered and pulled him upright. Off the floor, Fenris’ hair askew in his eyes, backwards until he was upright on his sore knees. He felt every shift in his bound arms and chest, rubbed and pulling against the ropes tensed and knotted against him. 

One of Iron Bull’s hands wrapped around Fenris’ slender and bound forearm, not tight, but large. Enough to remind Fenris of how Bull could easily overpower him if he chose. Bull pulled him up to his feet, lifting him effortlessly, Fenris knew that even if he did not stumble after him it wouldn’t have mattered. 

Fenris’ legs trembled, boneless and sore. His cock remained painfully erect in his smallclothes, but the Iron Bull was still behind him, holding him by his arm and gripped around his shoulder. _Master’s hands cloying against him as he stood exposed, raking fingernails across the swell of his ass, whispering reminders to stand up straight. His cock ignored, only for decoration. His Master’s fingers flicking to caress his entrance, biting his shoulder as he-_ Pushed forward suddenly, guided, Fenris’ breath hiccuped in his throat as Bull walked him towards the bed.

Panic fluttered in Fenris’ chest like a frightened bird, wings beating across the closing walls of its cage. Bull cooed a reassurance in his ear but the words were meaningless noise Fenris could not translate. He thought to dig in his heels, to push back against Bull as he led him forward but he did neither. He let it happen. Not because he was weak, but because something about it felt _good_ , felt _right_.

“I’m going to lay you on your side,” The Iron Bull said firmly, “On the bed.”

A breath of heat escaped Fenris is a moaning sigh. _”On the bed” he would say. Fenris would bow his head and delicately place himself on the rich silks, arrange his limbs and his body where his Master would take him._ Fenris’ thighs met the soft pelt that hung lavishly from the Iron Bull’s bunk, he softened. Bull guided him to sit, his legs tucked to the side, then tugged him back further onto the bed by the webbed knot at Fenris’ spine. Fenris fell to his side, bare skin against the soft fur. 

Fenris flicked an eye up to Bull through the silver veil of hair. He was curled on his side, bound, his legs leaden under him. His cock hard and his body ready to be plucked. The apprehension he had swallowed up mere moments before had warmed in his stomach and he shivered with the need it filled him with. _His Master had once procured a qunari, a slave taken captive from Seheron. He had purchased him to help Fenris prepare for when they would ship out to the war-torn island._ He needed something and he needed it now. If it weren't for the heavy dose of humiliation his brands would be searing in boiling lyrium. If it weren’t for the open windows he would be coated in a layer of fine sweat, betraying how much he needed his.

 _The qunari was chained and masked with a false vitaar, stripped of clothing and cowed only by the threat of magical correction. His cock was larger than any Fenris had taken before. Master wanted Fenris to be prepared for what might happen, should he be captured, so he would not be broken. Fenris endured it, through the pain and the humiliation of being fucked by such an animal. But his Master did not even hide the pleasure he derived from the exercise, his hand under his robes the entire time_.

Fenris shivered, his lips quivered as an emotion caught in his throat, too large to break through and escape. He ached, he warmed, he grieved.

“Please,” He gasped, tightening against the binds to remember where he was. “Please, let me suck your cock.”

Iron Bull’s eyebrows raised in shock, “I don’t think so.”

Fenris shook, muscles bruising against the ropes, he felt he would break into a thousand pieces if the ropes did not keep him together.

“ _Please_ ,” He hissed between his teeth, his cock dripped painfully with precome. 

“You don’t want that.” Iron Bull retorted, crossing his arms.

Fenris shook his head wildly, it was true. He didn’t want that. But still he said it. He needed a distraction, something to break through him and chase the ghosts. 

“Fuck me,” He whispered to the fur under him. “Please.”

“Fenris…” Iron Bull almost sounded disappointed. “Do you want your hands back?”

Fenris rubbed his face into the fur pelt, using the last of his willpower to stop the tears from coming. “No,” He groaned. Let him writhe and suffer if he must. _Only selfish slaves think of their own pleasure, Fenris, you’re not selfish are you?_

“What do you really want?” Iron Bull asked and the question pried at the edge of Fenris’ sanity, the last vestiges of his mind still above water. “You like this crap and that's _okay_ , but you need to stop and think of what you /want/. It's not about me.”

Fenris’ body was made of marble, smooth and solid and unrelenting and he was suffocating inside of it. How could he know what he wanted? He was just a slave. Just a stupid elf. His body was made to serve and his cock was an unruly animal thing, something he had to control. It had _always_ been like that-

_Lips wet and entangled in the dark, wine on his own tongue but not enough to cover the taste of him. Fire flickering low and Fenris straddling his lap, chasing his deep kiss as if he could not breathe without it. Shutting out the doubts and the ghosts that clawed against him. Unshorn cheeks burning Fenris’ enough to remind him of who he was kissing, who he was surrendering to. Hawke broke the kiss to gaze up at him, eyes soft, in awe._

“Bull-” Fenris gasped as if breaking from the water drowning him, “I need my hands.”

Fenris clutched the memory like a lifeline, eyes tensed shut in focus as Bull undid the knots. The ropes loosened, almost painfully, as if Fenris’ body would slide off into pieces without anything holding him together. One hand freed, slightly numb, but Fenris pulled it towards his smallclothes. He freed his aching cock and sac without a thought for Iron Bull, still untangling the ropes from him, and rubbed the wetness of his precome against its length.

The nerves lit deeper and brighter than they had since the red lyrium was put into his body. His cock ripe, a lightning rod for all the pain and turmoil and pleasure that raged inside of Fenris’ body. His second hand was freed and he grasped blindly across his chest, tangling in his hair and gripping it _hard_.

He thought of Hawke. He thought of Hawke’s hands leading him, covering his own as he stroked up and down his length, kissing against his neck as he encouraged him to speed up. He thought of Hawke’s hands pinning him to the bed, gripping his hair. Fenris’ mouth opened on a moan, a deep, animal sound he could not control as he drooled against the bed. He lifted to his knees, rocking back and forth as he imagined Hawke behind him, slicking his cock and kissing down his spine before he pressed inside of him. He imagined his shuddering breath as he felt Fenris, as he told Fenris he was handsome, powerful, how good he felt.

Pleasure tensed through Fenris’ body like a metal rod, stiffening everything in a final note before the crescendo. His hand abused his cock, his hips arching forward slowly as his wrist worked furiously to bring him over that last hurdle. Light flashed in Fenris’ eyes, his mind wiped blank of all thought as he burst in his hand. Come spilling over his shaking, red-laced fingers.

Fenris moaned, then choked on a sob. His body collapsed under him. It took the last of his energy to wrench his hand out from under him. Heavy now, exhausted, eyelids fluttering against the low lantern light before he couldn’t hold them open any longer. He slumped fully, committing to the afterglow as he laid in the cooling evidence of his first orgasm in maker knew how long.

Distantly, Fenris heard the ropes run through Bull’s fingers as he coiled them. Matched with a huff of what could have been a laugh, “Shit”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/rifa), although not super active. I am also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/DanaeWriting) if you would like, I dont talk fandom usually but I can talk fandom with you!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting close to the end of this fic, probably only two to three chapters left. I'm eager to get back to the main plot with the next installment of The Red Thread and to start resolving and complicating things further. In the meantime, we gotta get Fenris through these last chapters of self realization.
> 
> Warning for this chapter - there are some frank conversations regarding sexual abuse and abuse in general. Nothing too heavy, but if you are touchy do take care.

Fenris woke and for one brief and terrifying moment, had no recollection of where he was. He flinched against the fur under him, under the thin blanket that lightly covered his almost completely bare body. The mattress shifted under the weight of his forearms as he wrenched himself upright and the memories of what had happened poured back into him.

“Hey,” Iron Bull waved a broad hand from across the room, leaning away from what looked to be a pile of inquisition reports his wide desk. “How’re you feeling?”

Heat filled Fenris’ face all the way to the tips of his ears, remembering the demons he had revealed to Bull, “How long have I been asleep?”

“About two hours?” Bull squinted up at the ceiling as he counted the time, “Are you hungry? I could get something brought up.”

Fenris’ body ached dully, the muscles in his arms spent from their time in bondage. His joints twinged from the harsh positions he had arranged himself in, the tangled way he had fallen asleep. It wasn’t bad, considering. Deep in his abdomen, deep in his body he could feel a gentle well of peace and relaxation. Warm and sated. 

“No,” He rubbed one of his eyes with the heel of his hand, reaching under the blanket to tuck himself back into his smallclothes. Traces of his pleasure remained dried on his stomach and he made a face. “I would like my leggings though.”

Bull motioned to a chest of drawers next to the bed where Fenris lay, a jug of water and basin set next to Fenris’ clothes folded carefully upon it. Fenris shifted towards it under the thin blanket, eyeing Bull before the qunari turned back to his work to give him some privacy.

“So, you feeling alright?” Bull asked again. He never missed when Fenris evaded a question, did he? 

Fenris slipped from the blanket, poured water into the basin and soaked a rag. The water was cool to the touch, chilled by the open windows that were letting in the frigid night air. All he could think about was how he wanted to be clean, dressed, and back in his private room where he could attempt to cushion the inevitable crash that was coming. Soon the fog in his mind would settle and he did not know what wreckage would be revealed.

He had said _so many things_ to the Iron Bull. Blurted out one too many wild and loose thoughts, revealed far too much. His skin crawled at the memories as they slowly returned. 

“I am...” Fenris paused as he scrubbed the wet rag against him, rubbing away the first evidence of a release in what felt like years. “Fine.”

Iron Bull grunted, “You wanna talk about it?”

Fenris made a face at the wall as he pulled up his leggings. What was there to talk about? Even if he wanted to talk, he didn’t like the idea of opening up further to Bull, he had done enough of that for one night. He laced up and fastened his leggings, thoughts slowly bubbling to the surface as sleep eased off of him. He felt bombarded suddenly, full of too many questions and too many unwelcome thoughts that demanded the same sort of release he had managed to give his body. 

“No,” He answered honestly, turning as he pulled on his tunic. “I would prefer we never speak of what happened, especially anything I said during it.”

Iron Bull chuckled and stood from his desk, “You should probably talk that shit out. You don’t want to bury that shit up inside and lose all that work you just did.”

Fenris straightened as he met Bull’s eye, unwilling to be intimidated, if that was what the qunari was doing, “There is nothing to lose,” Fenris’ mouth was dry, the words felt wrong where they hung in the air between them. “I do not have anything to say.”

Bull crossed his arms, a small smile breaking over his measured expression. Fenris bristled at it, unwilling to hear a retort right now. He had embarrassed himself enough for one night and he did not intend to entertain Bull further. 

Fenris moved to the door, expecting Iron Bull to try and stop him. But Bull did not say anything, did not even move as Fenris unlatched the lock and opened the door. _Free_ , he thought, he was free and nothing could stop him from sprinting back to the safety of his room and locking the door behind him. To be properly alone with his thoughts and the prying, lingering self loathing he could feel forming in the darkness just beyond his vision. 

The red lyrium breathed inside of him, sighing like a slumbering dog.

Fenris stood in the threshold holding the knob of the door in a death grip. He remained there for a moment, then another, until he was gritting his teeth and his head was pounding. He did not want to leave, he did not want to be alone with this.

Distantly something reasonated in his memory, an echo calling back from the other side of a great chasm. He had left before, more than once actually, overwhelmed with the memories, the horrors and the abuse embedded into his skin. It had been too much. He had thought himself unworthy, broken and too inherently _wrong_ to be with Hawke, to enjoy the pleasure and affection and love the man offered him so willingly.

Fenris would do that to Hawke again, wouldn’t he? _Hadn’t he_? Fenris swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to recede. Another piece of his puzzle was presented to him, a trial to overcome so that he might be more whole when he finally found his way to Hawke. He had to stay, he had to see this through and face his demons and his fears in the eye.

The door was unlocked, Bull had not even attempted to stop him, Fenris was still free.

“Uhh,” Bull’s voice behind him, “So, you staying or leaving?”

Fenris closed his eyes tight, breathing deep to steady himself.

“You know, you didn’t tell me how it was for you,” Iron Bull teased, cutting the tension as best he could. “I mean I _assume_ you had a good time, going off what… you know… “

Fenris sighed and turned back into the room, closing the door with him. He dropped the knob with a boneless arm, staring defeated at the floor between them. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Fenris murmured, already he could feel the weight of it all returning. 

“I want you to sit and have a drink,” Iron Bull was smiling warmly when Fenris finally looked at him, not unlike the way he smiled out in the training grounds. “Just a little post-game talk. I can start if you want.”

Iron Bull pulled two of the low wooden benches closer and filled two steins from a barrel tucked into a nook just out of sight. Fenris was grateful for the ale, the thick hoppy taste already smoothing his harsh edges. Bull lowered himself to the bench across, settling slowly before lifting his stein to Fenris. 

“To breaking that seal,” Iron Bull blinked deliberately, as if he was attempting a wink as his stein clanked against Fenris’. “Finally letting loose like that after so long, how’d it feel?”

Fenris stiffened, his drink forgotten in his hand “I would rather not say.”

Iron Bull grunted and took a long swig of his ale, “Fair enough,” he responded, wiping foam from his lip, “You did a great job, by the way. I saw the way you faded in and out, I could tell you were struggling with some heavy crap but you always found your way back.”

Fenris’ ears pinned and he took a long drink of his ale, uncomfortable with praise now that they were out of the ‘scene’.

“That shit is hard to do,” The Iron Bull continued, as if Fenris had voiced a deflection. “You let yourself be vulnerable, really let yourself go, and you got out the other side. You should be proud.”

Fenris couldn’t stop himself from souring at the comment, the way it ran sickly down his back like a cracked egg, “Proud of what? Losing all self-control and debasing myself to… to…” Fenris struggled to let the words loose from the tight grip he had on them, “To beg for what I did.”

Iron Bull went quiet but Fenris couldn’t bring himself to look at him, the memory of begging Bull to defile him haunting his thoughts. Even as a slave, begging had been presented as a weakness, something selfish and unbecoming for an obedient slave, only acceptable when instructed or driven purposefully to it. As a free man, the idea sat and rotted in Fenris’ stomach, eating away at his resolve. 

“You shouldn’t beat yourself up about it,” Bull said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if Fenris was brooding over stepping on a bug. “It tends to happen in these situations, I’ve seen it a lot.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Fenris shot Bull a look, “it had nothing to do with _you_.”

Iron Bull chuckled, “Don’t worry, that much is obvious. I don’t think you had a single thought of me during that scene. It seemed like you were somewhere real dark when you were asking for those things anyways.”

Fenris looked away, feeling exposed, “I suppose.”

“You know you can tell me,” Iron Bull’s voice was low, comforting. “I’m not interested in revealing you to anyone. I’m just here to help.”

Fenris was starting to feel the effects of the drink, softening his senses just enough to let his vigilance slip into something looser. “But you are ben-hassrath.”

“Yeah, but..” Iron Bull blinked and his expression shifted, “I’m tel-vasoth now, remember? I don’t have anyone to report to now.”

“Except the Inquisitor,” Fenris’ eyes narrowed.

“You think the boss wants a report of the weird shit you said after I tied you up?” Iron Bull laughed, but the tension remained in his shoulders. “What happened to the trust we had built up, Fenris?”

Fenris immediately felt foolish, recognizing the old thought patterns and paranoia he was letting himself slip back into. He _did_ trust Bull, he had just let the qunari bind him and see him descend into the depths of his twisted shame. What was he rescinding that trust now?

“Apologies,” Fenris bowed his head respectfully before he took another deep drink. “Forgive me I am not sure how to….”

Fenris’ words escaped him. He looked over at Bull again, waving a confused hand in the air to try and show what he could not say. The entire night had been confusing and far too much.

“You’re fine,” Bull smiled, easier now. “It’s hard to know what to do after you’ve been told exactly what to do for so long. But you’ll figure it out, just need a new purpose to guide you.”

Fenris watched Iron Bull, seeing that he was pulling from his own thoughts and experience. He wondered how similar being rejected from the Qun was to his situation. Different, of course, slavery and the Qun were very different from his minimal understanding. But at its core, perhaps it wasn’t so different in practise, when it came down to the way it changed the people under it.

“So, let’s talk a bit,” Iron Bull prompted, as if they weren’t already talking. “How were the ropes for you?”

“Fine,” Fenris answered automatically, Iron Bull’s question struck his thoughts like a rock scattering a flock of birds into the air. 

“Too tight? Too much? Not enough?” Bull offered, “Anything you liked or want differently for next time, if there is gonna be a next time?”

Fenris closed his eyes and shook his head softly, “No, it was fine. I have endured worse. You were very considerate.”

“Hmm,” Iron Bull grunted uneasily, “That’s how it should always be, in case you were wondering.”

“I understand,” Fenris swallowed up a wistful sigh, bottling it up. “I feel foolish that I didn’t understand back then, I thought that bondage was something you endured not something mutually pleasurable.”

Even saying it felt wrong.

“Did you find it pleasurable?” Iron Bull was gazing at the nearby lantern, giving Fenris space as he asked the question with a pointed casual air.

But Fenris wasn’t sure if he meant the scene they had just conducted, or if he meant in the past.

“I...” Fenris suddenly couldn’t differentiate the two. “I did. Often. I thought it was only because I wanted to please my master, that I was satisfied when I was able to be of service to him.”

“And you don’t feel that way about me,” Iron Bull supplied. “So how was it when it was different?”

Fenris blinked at his red-laced fingers where they tensed and released around his nearly empty stein, “I wanted to be of service to you, I begged…”

“No,” Iron Bull leaned in, his voice low. “You didn’t want that. I saw. You said what you felt you needed to.”

Fenris shivered as a chill ran down the curve of his spine, prickled at his tail bone, “I was remembering…”

“Don’t say it if you don’t want to,” Bull cut in but Fenris dismissed the nicety with a wave of his hand.

“My master…” Fenris started speaking before he was ready, the words pouring from him as if some dam deep inside him had cracked. He squared his vision on Bull, meeting his eyes and locking with them as he spoke. “He had me ‘train’ with a qunari slave he had acquired, to prepare me in case I was captured. But remembering it now it’s clear that it wasn’t any sort of training, it was only for his own pleasure. I endured so many things I believed I had to, to become a stronger and better slave for him. And all of it was for nothing except his cock.”

“Shit,” Iron Bull never broke Fenris’ gaze, holding it with him. “That’s rough.”

Fenris emptied his stein and let it fall clumsily to the floor, “Everything I did was for him and he never had a single thought for me. He convinced me that he cared for me, treasured me, and yet he took every pleasure in my pain and humiliation. No kind word was ever without a selfish motive and I…”

Fenris remembered Danarius in the dark cave at the center of the desert, the lyrium madness peeling away the last of his facade. Fenris’ blade through his middle, the blood, the lyrium crackling and how quickly Danarius turned into nothing more than a limp, empty corpse. 

Danarius was no more than just a person, flesh and blood like the rest of the men Fenris had felled before him. It was almost devastating, now that he thought about it, how easily he was able to end his life. How Danarius left his body like slipping off a robe, evading justice, escaping the horror that Fenris had held for so long in his presence. 

“I killed him,” Fenris’ voice was barely a whisper, his chest ached and his eyes burned. “I killed him. He’s gone and yet…”

Iron Bull did not move, did not offer any words, simply remained a witness and willing ear. Fenris expected Bull to praise him, to reiterate that he was free now and did not need to waste his thoughts on the man that had so thoroughly destroyed him inside and out. But he didn’t, and Fenris kept going.

“I shouldn’t have,” Fenris’ head was pounding, his heartbeat thudding between his pinned ears. His hands twisted into glowing red fists. “I should have- I- He _raised_ me. He took everything from me. He built me and then he took joy in my shattering. Nothing I experience will be without his influence or control, ever. There’s not an hour that passes without a thought of him.”

The heat was rising, the lyrium lighting and increasing in his brands. Fenris could sense them pushing against his skin, longing for release and growth. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, unable to settle the storm inside of him but able to at least contain it. 

Iron Bull’s eyebrows were knitted, his gaze watching his markings with unease, “I understand.” He said simply, “And I know how tangled those feelings can get when it comes to sex.”

“Even if free men enjoy subjugation and bondage,” Fenris continued, his nerves sharpened into spikes that pierced him on every word. “I cannot escape where my enjoyment stems from. I cannot experience pleasure without _him_ in my mind. He invaded my mind, modified it to suit his purposes, there is nothing of me that hasn’t been touched and ruined by him.”

Iron Bull’s eye narrowed, “Then what did you think of when you finally came? Did you think of him?”

Fenris held his breath, the noise of his anger and the lyrium dropped to a gentle hum inside, “I thought of Hawke. But-”

“But what?” Iron Bull scooped up Fenris’ stein and stood, “You did the damn thing, you conquered all that shit and did something for _yourself_.”

Fenris felt small in the face of the obvious, “But…” He protested after Bull as he refilled their steins, “I thought of him in a different way than I should. I cannot put these horrors upon him, I can’t just transfer these thoughts onto him.”

Bull returned with filled steins and raised brows, “Did you imagine him beating you? Forcing you to fuck another slave?”

Fenris balked at the absurdity, needles prickling the floor of his stomach at the thought, “No, but it wasn’t- it wasn’t how free men should love each other.”

Bull’s brow rose further as he passed Fenris his drink, “And how’s that?”

“Softly, I suppose,” Fenris’ face heated thinking of the fantasy that led him to his climax, of Hawke pinning him and taking him with a fist in his hair. “Without contempt and…”

 _With love_ , he wanted to say but didn’t. 

“Ah,” Iron Bull settled back on the bench, stretching out his legs and taking a generous sip of his drink. “Do you want Hawke to treat you how your old master did? Is that what you imagined?”

“No,” Fenris bristled, “That is not what I meant.”

Iron Bull shrugged a shoulder, “I know you’re not crazy about the idea of Hawke doing any of this kinky stuff with you, but maybe you should think less of what you _think_ he expects of you and think about what you want out of a relationship with him.”

Fenris took a long drink of his ale, hoping it would help him past the barriers that stopped him from thinking about what _he_ wanted.

“You are doing better than you think,” Bull tipped his chin towards Fenris once he came up for air. “And Hawke isn’t totally ready for things to be the way they used to be between you too either, that much is painfully obvious. He’s got a lot of shit to work through too.”

“I can see why he dislikes you,” Fenris teased, his mood easing with more drink.

Bull laughed at that, “All this hard shit takes time, with enough time and work you can sort through anything.”

Fenris tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “How has that worked for you?”

Bull gave him a sharp, knowing look before a grin broke across his face, “Hey now, I got enough people around here trying to get in my head. This is a one-way thing we have going here. Speaking of which… are you interested in doing this again? Digging a little deeper?”

Fenris considered, although it only took a moment to arrive to an answer, “Yes, I would like that.”

Their conversation trailed from planning their next scene to more simple pleasantries. Iron Bull used the relative comfort to relay stories of the beasts and dragons he had taken on with the inquisition. Fenris listened with interest but was pulled by a distant, deep ache at how familiar the stories were. It had been years and the memories were still buried and fragmented, but Fenris could remember the sense of camaraderie, the ease he had amongst friends, fighting for something he cared about.

It was not too long until Fenris finished his drink and excused himself, laden with thought and memories that required the peace and safety of his own quarters. He traced his path through Skyhold, his bare red-laced feet padding silently over stone and threadbare carpets. The keep was quiet in this late hour, the silence allowing for Fenris’ mind to wander.

It was not until Fenris turned into the last hall before he would need to cross the snowy courtyards to his room that he saw another person. The man appeared from an archway, books and notes shoved under his arm as he yawned widely. Their eyes met and through the low light Fenris caught his fashion, the way he carried himself and the lyrium prickled.

“Isn’t it a bit late for you to be sulking around Skyhold?” The Tevinter accent was strong, thick with fatigue as the mage smirked. Fenris remembered him from the meeting he had with the Inquisition some weeks ago, although he had not seen him since. 

“Dorian,” Fenris inclined his head. Habit, stupid habit. He met his eyes instead.

“Uh,” Dorian faltered, visibly uncomfortable. “You’re looking well, that is, considering-” Dorian gestured needlessly and cleared his throat, “I have been putting it off but you and I will need to have a meeting to discuss the lyrium’s removal soon. Fiona and I have been pouring our collective knowledge together but we won’t know if its going to be feasible until we, well, run a few experiments i suppose.”

Fenris stared at Dorian feeling as if the stone under his feet would crumble in on itself at any moment and swallow them both up in the rubble. Almost hoping it would be so. 

“ _As you say,_ ” Fenris’ tevene felt odd on his tongue his days, but he reveled in the rude response in their shared language. Perhaps it was not rude between free men, but. “ _Speak to Hawke._ ”

Fenris strode away, towards the far door that would wash him in the freezing cold of the mountains and ease his brands of their sting. He could feel Dorian’s eyes on him but resisted the urge to look back to gauge a reaction. 

“ _Until we meet again,_ ” Dorian called down the empty hall, Fenris’ unease increasing at the formal choice of words as he ducked out of the door and into the courtyards.

It was snowing, the wind beating against the walls and swirling the snowflakes in great twisted displays within the courtyards. It froze the anxieties and fears within Fenris, if only for the short time it took to return to his quarters. His apprehension about how to navigate the labyrinth of his sexual damage, the terror at the reminder that he still needed to undergo more physical torment before he could be properly free of the red monster within him, they stilled. Frosted still in his mind so he could gaze upon them, face them without fear that they would consume him.

Fenris’ feet crunched in the cold snow, grounding him and shrinking the already dulled edge of the red lyrium. He wondered how Hawke was faring out in the mountains on his own tonight, if he was warm enough against the storm that beat against the lonely keep. Fenris thought of the fantasy that carried him earlier that night, of the warmth and power beating out from Hawke’s body. The thought alone was enough to make Fenris’ knees weak, even when the reality of their situation was breathing down his back.

Fenris’ quarters were almost as cold as it was outside the stone walls, the windows trembling against the battering wind as a thin layer of snow laid upon the floor and on Fenris’ few belongings. He paid it no mind, accepting the peace the cold would give him as he laid down for the night.

He laid upon his bed, staring up at the ceiling as his thoughts slowly resumed their wandering. The red lyrium would be removed soon, and it was clear that the mages in charge of the procedure were not fully confident about the results. Hawke had mixed emotions about it too, swinging wildly from intense pressure to have Fenris freed of the red lyrium’s corruption to complete rejection of the reality of what that would entail. 

Why was it that everyone in Fenris’ life had more power over his body than he did? When could he feel the agency and freedom he was promised, that he yearned for, when it all seemed to depend on how well others could modify and manipulation his flesh.

Fenris pressed his eyes closed, chasing away the thoughts of Danarius and his experiments, the red lyrium living and breathing and destroying his body from the inside. He had already proven today that _he_ had control over his own body, that he could decide how he wanted to be touched and treated. He had taken pleasure from his own body, not at the mercy or generosity of his master, but from his own desire.

He reached down, under his leggings and his smallclothes, and took hold of himself. _He_ was in control. And if he had no control over what _else_ was going to happen with his body in Skyhold, he still had this. 

Fenris bit his lip, calling up the images and thoughts that carried him before. Letting himself harden in his hand, stroking and tugging until he came for the second time that night. Hawke’s name pressed against his lips, the suggestion of bondage, of humiliation mere shadows in the light that was what he remembered of Hawke’s love. No ghosts entered his dreams that night, peace welled deep within his body for the first time he could remember.


End file.
